


Taste the way that you bleed

by JJK, SinpaiCasanova (Bladerunnerblue)



Series: Moonlight making crosses on your body, and me putting my mouth on every one. [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Arranged Marriage, Blood Drinking, Blood and Injury, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Canon-Typical Violence, Contracts, Full Moon, Full Shift Werewolves, Identity Porn, Knotting, M/M, Mating Bond, Memory Loss, Mild Feminization, Past Alexander Pierce/Bucky Barnes, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Protective Steve Rogers, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Top Steve Rogers, Vampire Bucky Barnes, Werewolf Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:22:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27257125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJK/pseuds/JJK, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bladerunnerblue/pseuds/SinpaiCasanova
Summary: “Alex has an offer for you,” Natasha simply replied. “One you’d be a fool to pass up, in my opinion.”“What kind of offer?”“It’s a treaty of universal and perpetual peace, of course.” She said, as if that were plainly obvious to everyone here but Steve. Some stigmas, such as Lycans being equated to slobbering, mangy, stupid dogs, were hard for vampires to shake, he supposed. But still, it rankled to have to hear that prejudice come through in her tone. “Alex believes that enough blood has been spilled on his account, and offers you, as Supreme Alpha, a vampiric mate to unite our species once and for all.”Steve blinked, dumbfounded by what he’d just heard.“You’ve got to be joking. He’s giving me a fucking war bride?! ”“No.” Natasha pointedly corrected. “He’s offering you a mate , Steven. Surely, you must know how detrimental it is to go for so long without one.”—Or, the one where Werewolf Steve is forced to marry Vampire Bucky in order to keep the peace.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Moonlight making crosses on your body, and me putting my mouth on every one. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069814
Comments: 266
Kudos: 667





	1. Chapter One: Steve

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Howl-oween everyone! Updates will be daily until the story is finished, to better follow the events of the story in "real time." (Even though this upcoming full moon is a blue moon and not a hunter’s moon.) 
> 
> Anyway, JJK and I are super excited to show you all what we've been working on. We hope you enjoy!❤❤

_Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us._ _These, our bodies, possessed by light._ _Tell me we’ll never get used to it._

**Richard Siken, Scheherazade**

****

━━━━━━⋇⋆✦⋆⋇━━━━━━

Steve dreamt he was on the train again. He dreamt the door slid closed, cutting them off; that Nazi soldiers were assaulting them from both sides. Steve took a shot to the arm, another in the leg, but he pushed on with a growl; ignoring the pain and drawing strength from a deep well of anger and a primordial lust for violence that had taken root deep inside his gut ever since that fateful night in the Black Forest. Steve emptied his magazine in the direction of the soldiers and threw himself behind the boxes of cargo for cover as they fired back. Keeping his face shielded from the spray, Steve sent a shelf full of cargo clattering into the soldiers to subdue them, crushing them under its weight, and kicked a dropped gun up into his grip, firing indiscriminately to make sure they stayed down.

He snarled, nostrils flaring at the stench of blood that filled the car, but he didn’t have time to linger. The sharp rat-tat-tat that carried through the partition told him that Bucky needed his help. Steve grabbed another gun from the floor and ducked beneath the window of the door, pressing himself flush against the wall as he peered through. Bucky was pinned down behind another stack of crates, fresh out of bullets if his sour expression was anything to go by. Steve caught his attention with a quiet tap to the glass, gesturing with a nod to the gun in his grip. Bucky’s face instantly flooded with relief and he nodded, following Steve’s lead just as seamlessly as he always did.

“On three,” Steve mouthed, counting silently before he forced the door open and tossed the gun to Bucky in one smooth motion. He dove forward and sent another slew of crates crashing toward the soldiers, whilst Bucky picked them off with sharp, accurate shots as soon as they scrambled to get out of the way.

“I had ‘em on the ropes,” Bucky muttered indignantly, like he always did.

And Steve followed suit, murmuring a reassuring “I know you did,” with a smile. 

And then the soldier they hadn’t spotted tossed a fucking _grenade_ at them and blew the side of the train out, like _he_ always did, and from there, the dream became a nightmare.

The blast violently threw them both to the ground, and no matter what Steve did, no matter how many times he dreamt the same dream, Steve was never quick enough to stop Bucky in time.

Bucky stood, shakily, and aimed his gun at the soldier. They fired at each other at the same time and Bucky was hit in the shoulder. The force sent him reeling back, stumbling towards the gaping hole in the side of the train, which opened out into a deep, icy ravine 200 ft below them. Steve frantically dove forward, like he always did, and caught Bucky by his arm, holding on as tight as he could as the rushing wind and the speed of the train threatened to pull Bucky away from him.

“Steve!” Bucky cried, sheer terror filling his steel-blue eyes.

“Bucky! Hold on!” Steve cried back, but his hand was slick with his own blood that gushed from the bullet wound in his arm. It spilled, slick and hot around their hands and Bucky slipped in his grip. Although Steve held on for dear life, and although Bucky’s teary eyes desperately pleaded with him, begging for him not to let go…Steve’s grip gave out. Bucky fell away, his screams echoing around the ravine above the roar of the wind and the rushing of the train, haunting Steve’s dreams every night since.

Steve awoke with a start, panting for breath, his heart racing and his body slick with sweat. Bucky’s name was on the tip of his tongue, but Steve swallowed it back, just as he always did. He sat up unsteadily, his body shaking through the aftershocks of the nightmare as he slowly regained his bearings, taking in the dark, bleak contents of his bedroom. His eyes adjusted rapidly to the darkness, which was illuminated only by the thin stripe of moonlight falling between a crack in the drapes. When his breathing had finally evened out, Steve ran a trembling hand through his shaggy, dirty-blond hair and threw the covers off himself, pushing himself out of bed to pad through to the kitchen for a glass of water.

The kitchen blinds were rolled up, allowing the moon to cast its silvery glow across the sleek granite countertops and bounce along the chrome finishes of the appliances he hardly used. Steve filled a large glass from the tap and stood in front of the window, leaning a hand on the sink as he drained it; those tired, blue eyes staring blankly at the gorgeous view before him. It had been seventy-five years since Steve had lost his grip on Bucky and sent the love of his life plummeting to his death. Not a day had gone by where Steve didn’t broil with guilt over it, but nights like this, with the moon waxing gibbous--only a few days away from being full--were the worst. It was like the grief in his blood had soaked up the moonlight, determined to remind him of its presence with every cycle of the moon.

Steve had endured his first full moon mere days after Bucky had fallen – his first full moon since his transformation, that was. Steve’s only solace, and it was a miserable one at best, was that Bucky had never had to witness the monster that Steve had become.

He filled another glass and took it with him, heading for the gym he’d installed in the second bedroom, rather than going back to bed. He knew he’d never be able to fall back asleep anyway, so he might as well try and punch out some anger on the reinforced bags he’d installed. He didn’t bother to get dressed, didn’t even bother to tape up his hands; his knuckles would heal in no time, which was both a blessing and a curse, all part of the package of what he’d become.

He was vicious, ruthless in his anger as he struck the bags with the full force of his might. The encroaching hunter’s moon always put him on edge, shortening his already minuscule fuse. Steve lost track of time, trapped in a blissful haze of violence, but was startled from his reverie by the shrill ringing of his phone from the other room. Steve dropped his fists and flexed his fingers, flinching as the cracked skin of his knuckles burned and bled over his reddened hands. He paused to wash them under the sink, idly noticing that the skin was already starting to knit itself back together before he headed into the bedroom to answer his phone.

The display name flashed _‘Sam’_ , Steve’s second, and he swiped to answer the call with a swift brush of his thumb. Caller ID was one of the better inventions over the years, among other things he wished Bucky could have seen.

“Yeah?” He barked into the receiver, sounding gruffer than he’d intended.

“It’s Pierce.” Sam sounded plenty bitter himself. “He’s sending an emissary. Says he wants to talk.”

Steve let out a low growl that reverberated deep in his chest. “Why the fuck would I want to talk to him?”

It was no secret that Steve and Alexander Pierce hated each other. Even if the centuries-old rivalry between Lycans and vampires wasn’t an ever-present facet in their relationship, or lack thereof, Steve would still feel the same sickening revulsion that roils in his gut at the mere mention of his name, just as it did now. But witnessing the vile murder of his pack leader, Nick Fury, tended to have that sort of effect.

“Hey, I’m just the messenger, Steve.” Sam pointedly reminded him, and Steve could well imagine the tight clench of Sam’s jaw. Steve knew there was no love lost between Sam and Peirce over the years. Not after what he’d done to Riley as well.

“Sorry.” Steve was quick to apologize. Sam, as always, was just as quick to brush it off. He couldn’t fault Steve for what the moon brought out in all of them. Entering into a hunter’s moon without a mate did strange things to a Lycan's mind, and Sam, thanks to Pierce, was now in the same predicament that Steve had always been in. 

“Apparently, he wants to make you an offer,” Sam said, and his bitter tone did nothing to mask how little he believed that blatant lie. 

Steve bit back the snarl that crept up the back of his throat. “The fuck could he offer me?”

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.” Sam sighed, mirroring the weariness Steve felt right down to his bones. “We meet him in two days. I’ll send you the address.”

━━━━━━⋇⋆✦⋆⋇━━━━━━

Steve’s restlessness only increased as the hours stretched into days. The bright glow of the moon, now just two nights away from the full hunter’s moon, was pulling at him incessantly, making his skin feel far too tight around his bones. The monster within was growing ravenous again, threatening to burst right out of his skin with each passing, blood-thirsty thought that wasn’t his own. 

For the most part, Steve was able to keep it contained, satisfying the wolf’s urges with long runs through the forest behind his home. Sam would occasionally join him, and they’d strip down to nothing but their skin before their heavy bones would shift and crack, rapidly realigning into the massive, dire wolf-like predator they had since become. But being this close to the shift, when the lines between man and wolf were blurred by the light of the moon, Steve was forced to go on these runs alone. It was far too dangerous to be in the company of another Lycan when the monster underneath their heated flesh was itching to break free.

Steve remembered the rich taste of blood in his mouth, the feeling of flesh and fur tearing against his sharpened teeth and claws when another, older wolf had challenged him. Rumlow wore the scars of that particular encounter all along the left side of his face, and every time Steve caught sight of them, the wolf within would purr with delight, knowing that, even though Steve was still a new wolf at the time, he had still bested Rumlow in combat, taking the throne of Supreme Alpha for himself after Fury's untimely death.

The memory, of course, did little to soothe the anxiety Steve now felt in his core. They were standing on the outskirts of their shared territory, waiting for Pierce’s emissary to arrive. Steve thought it best if only Sam and Clint were in attendance with him for this, in case it turned out to be an elaborate trap, but as usual, Rumlow had managed to weasel his way into joining them, most likely to keep a watchful eye on Steve.

None of them trusted Pierce, or his word that this meeting between their species was benign in nature. There was far too much Lycan blood on that bastard’s hands for Steve to think otherwise.

"He's baiting us," Clint grumbled as he paced back and forth, his sharp blue eyes scanning the treeline for any threats Steve and Sam hadn't been able to detect. "That son-of-a-bitch is planning something, Steve. Why else would he have called for a stalemate so soon after the last attack?"

Sam stiffened at the comment, and they were all reminded, once again, of Pierce's involvement in Riley's death. 

“Of course he is,” Sam agreed. 

They all did, save for Rumlow, who was the only one among them that gave Pierce the benefit of the doubt. Steve clenched his jaw at the thought. Rumlow was always challenging Steve in some way or another, he just didn’t think Rumlow would be so keen to trust the word of a treacherous blood-sucker over that of his own Alpha. 

“Trust me, Barton, I’m with you on this. I don’t like the fact that we’re out here in the open either, but if this _is_ a legitimate offer for peace, don’t you think we should at least try to meet him halfway?”

“Sam, he killed Riley!” Clint heatedly implored, his aggression ramping up unexpectedly. Sam bared his teeth in a snarl as his mate’s name was invoked once again, ready to throw diplomacy to the wind and kick Barton’s ass if it came down to it. 

Barton, sensing the abrupt change in Sam’s demeanor, only doubled down. “What? Was his death not enough for you? How many more have to die before you finally see him for what he is?! ”

Steve placed his hand in the center of Sam’s chest, stopping him from rising to the obvious challenge Barton was laying out. He knew that snipe wasn’t meant for Sam. Barton was directing that right at Steve, for failing to keep them all safe, and for refusing to do what should have been done centuries ago.

“That’s enough,” Steve growled lowly in warning, his hackles rising as he sized Barton up. “Consider your next words very carefully, Barton, because I won’t hesitate to put you back in your place.”

The smaller Lycan considered it for a moment, curling his lips in agitation before he thought better of it and ultimately backed down. Barton resumed his aimless pacing, wordlessly conceding to Steve’s authority, just as Steve knew he would. It was just the moon wreaking havoc on them, same as it did every single month. The urge to fight and fuck was almost impossible to ignore during a hunter’s moon, and the added stress of another possible skirmish with the vampires wasn’t helping to settle them down much at all. If anything, it was only making things worse.

But if Barton was right, and this was a trap, Steve wouldn’t hesitate this time. He would track Alexander Pierce down, even to the ends of the earth, just to tear that bastard apart. The only reason he’d ever stayed his hand in the past was because of Bucky, who’d be turning over in his grave if he ever knew the terrible things Steve had done since his death. It might not be worth much, allowing Pierce to linger on when he’d had the opportunity to finally put him in the ground, but it was one less drop of blood on his hands. One less life he was responsible for taking.

Eventually, Pierce’s sleek black Cadillac pulled up in front of them, a half an hour later than the time he’d agreed upon too, if the position of the moon told him anything. Clint, Rumlow, and Sam flanked behind him defensively when the back door of the car swung open, each of them tense with their senses on high alert. 

A porcelain-skinned redhead–known to them as Natasha Romanoff–stepped out of the car, regarding them warily as she approached Steve. Her green eyes were unusually bright, almost glowing in the light of the moon, making her skin seem even paler in stark contrast to them.

“Barton,” She cooly greeted, shifting her eerie gaze to the wolf to Steve’s right. Steve’s nose twitched curiously as Barton grunted in response, but by the smell of it, Barton wasn’t as annoyed by her presence as he was trying to make it seem. Were he in wolf-form, his tail would be damn-near thumping the ground with excitement, which was an interesting turn from how close he’d been to tearing Sam’s head off just a short while ago.

The vampire nodded at Sam and Rumlow next, acknowledging them as well before turning the full measure of her attention back to Steve. It was quite an intense thing, to be pinned under Natasha’s gaze like an insect on display. Steve could practically feel her trying to peer into his mind, aching to dissect his innermost thoughts. Of course, she couldn’t, and in the back of his mind, Steve knew that. The gift of passing on thoughts and memories was inherently vampiric, and Lycans, thankfully, weren’t built for such things–or, so Steve assumed. But still, Natasha Romanoff had an odd way about her that made it feel as if she could crawl right under your skin. Hence the reason why Pierce sent her to do most of his dirty work. She was clean and efficient, detached from the way she killed in a way that Lycans–and even most vampires–just weren’t. 

“It’s good to see you again, Steven,” She said, lips pulled up into what Steve thought might be an attempted smile, but on her, it just looked like a subtle threat. “How long’s it been, hm? Six months? Seems like we’re always meeting under the worst of circumstances.”

“Cut the shit, Romanoff,” Steve hissed through clenched teeth. His fists were balled up tightly, blunt nails biting into the calloused flesh of his palms in an effort to keep the wolf at bay. Natasha, who didn’t miss a goddamn thing, only smiled wider at the sight of it. “Why are we here?”

“Alex has an offer for you,” Natasha simply replied. “One you’d be a fool to pass up, in my opinion.”

“What kind of offer?” 

“It’s a treaty of universal and perpetual peace, of course.” She said, as if that were plainly obvious to everyone here _but_ Steve. Some stigmas, such as Lycans being equated to slobbering, mangy, stupid dogs, were hard for vampires to shake, he supposed. But still, it rankled to have to hear that prejudice come through in her tone. “Alex believes that enough blood has been spilled on his account, and offers you, as Supreme Alpha, a vampiric mate to unite our species once and for all.”

Steve blinked, dumbfounded by what he’d just heard.

“You’ve got to be joking. He’s giving me a fucking _war bride?!_ ”

“No.” Natasha pointedly corrected. “He’s offering you a _mate_ , Steven. Surely, you must know how detrimental it is to go for so long without one.”

Steve growled and clenched his hands in annoyance by his sides. He wanted to refuse outright, but what kind of selfish fool would he be to throw away this opportunity? A treaty of universal and perpetual peace? That was too important to pass up–which made Steve instantly suspicious. What the hell was Pierce playing at? 

“A mate, right.” Steve scoffed. “Out of the goodness of his heart. Why the sudden remorse? What’s in it for him?”

"I told you.” Natasha intoned like Steve was an idiot. “A peace treaty to unite our species and end the bloodshed.” 

“And this person consents, do they? To mate with me?” Steve asked in a gruff voice. "As if a vampire would willingly agree to something like that. Lycans mate for life, and there's no easy way to break that bond once it's been forged."

Natasha inspected her nails before answering; perfectly manicured and painted a jet black that glinted under the moonlight. 

“Do you really think Pierce would force someone into a marriage contract without their consent?” She answered loftily after a while.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Steve spat back, as Sam growled, “Of course he fucking would.” 

Natasha glanced between them before giving them a long-suffering sigh. “Would you even believe me if I did say, ‘yes’?” She asked.

Not likely, Steve thought, but somehow managed to keep it to himself. 

“I’ll have to think this over.” He said eventually, dragging a hand through his hair. 

“Well think fast. The offer expires tomorrow at midnight.” Natasha gave her nails another inspection before setting her face into something of an enigmatic smile. 

“ _What_?” Steve demanded, feeling the wolf press worryingly close to the surface as his anger flared and his hackles raised. “No way.” There was no way Steve could take on a new mate so close to a full moon, certainly not a non-Lycan, he’d tear them to pieces. What the hell was Pierce thinking?!

“Why so soon?” Barton spoke up, managing to maintain a surprising aura of calm. Beside him, Steve felt Sam tensed and ready to lunge if Steve gave the say so. As always, Rumlow hung back and Steve couldn’t get a good read on him. 

“It’s the only way to ensure you can’t doublecross. How fair would it be if we gave you time to plan a war whilst we were busy planning a wedding?” She fluttered her eyelashes, all feigned innocence, but Steve knew deception when he saw it. Pierce had something hidden up his sleeve. 

Everything inside Steve raged against the idea of accepting. How could he ever take a mate when his heart still belonged to Bucky? How could he willingly marry someone he knew was being forced against their will? But as Steve considered his options, he knew he didn’t have a choice. He had to at least consider the terms; how much innocent blood would be on his hands if he didn’t.

“We’ll need the terms in writing.” He begrudgingly muttered, keeping his eyes pinned on Natasha, boring into her, making sure she knew how much he hated this proposition. 

“Of course.” Natasha gave an attempt at a cordial smile but there was too much danger lurking in her eyes for it to appear completely pleasant. She snapped her fingers and the driver scurried from the car to open the trunk, lifting out three immense folders full of printed sheets that outlined the terms of the treaty. They were placed at Steve’s feet before the driver scurried away again. 

“There’s no way we can examine all of this before tomorrow.” Sam protested. 

“Well, you’d better get reading then.” She gave another smile that was all teeth and fangs pointed like daggers. “We’ll arrange the requisite paperwork for the union. After you confirm your agreement with the treaty, we’ll text you the time and location one hour before the ceremony. If you don’t show, we’ll be forced to assume you reject our terms. In which case,” Natasha’s tone turned almost somber. “I’ll see you on the battlefield.”

She snapped her fingers again and slunk back into the Cadillac. The engine revved and the driver maneuvered to pull away. Natasha wound down the rear window as the car slipped past, blowing a mocking kiss.

“Bye-bye, boys!” She trilled as the car speed up and drove away. 

“Fuck.” Steve muttered in her wake, which came out as little more than an indecipherable growl. 

“What do we do now?” Clint’s calm had vanished, he was practically trembling on the spot. 

“We get reading. And find out whatever loop-hole or trick Pierce thinks he’s playing before midnight tomorrow.” Steve kicked the folders with his feet like he wasn’t sure they weren’t going to blow up and propped his hands angrily on his hips. There was no other choice, not one which didn’t endanger innocent lives. Steve was under no illusion this so-called ‘mate’ was consenting freely to this. The vampires had always made their distaste of the Lycans well known, but what Pierce had offered — or threatened them with — Steve was pretty certain he could treat them better than Pierce had. “Clint, call up Murdock–we’re going to need his help with this,” Steve ordered. 

“What about the others?” Rumlow asked, sounding surly as ever. “This involves them too. Maybe they don’t want peace.”

“Who the fuck doesn’t want peace, Rumlow?” Sam countered before Steve could answer.

Steve sighed, Rumlow was right, normally a decision of this magnitude would warrant at least a discussion with the other packs that inhabited Steve’s territory, but there just wasn’t time for such things, and meeting this close to a full moon was just asking for trouble. “We review the contract first. Find out what Pierce is planning. We’ll make the announcement when we know what it is we’re announcing.” He decided. 

━━━━━━⋇⋆✦⋆⋇━━━━━━

Steve couldn’t sleep. He stayed up all night scouring through the contract, desperate to find what Peirce had hidden in the terms. Eventually, he found it. Clause 45, subsection 12, paragraph 3c: _in the event that the Mate, or their pack, causes bodily harm to the Party, the truce and all terms and conditions within this contract, will be rendered null and void._

“Or _their pack_ ,” Steve growled, a devious little sub-clause that placed all of the responsibility on Steve and nothing on the other ‘Party’ to the contract. So that was Pierce’s aim, and why he was pushing for the nuptials to take place so close to a full moon: Pierce wanted Steve to harm his mate and void the contract, granting Pierce justification to launch an all-out war in retaliation. Steve ground his teeth, feeling anger ripple beneath his skin. It shouldn’t have surprised him, the depths which Pierce was prepared to stoop, but the fact that Pierce was prepared to sacrifice one of his own in such a cold-blooded, merciless way made Steve boil with rage. 

His plan would fail, though. Steve would see to that.


	2. Chapter Two: Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments, we're really glad you like it so far! 💙 
> 
> (warning for some very mild feminisation, in that Pierce repeatedly refers to Bucky as a 'bride')

As Steve expected, Murdock had inevitably found the contract to be sound, at least legally speaking, so of course, if Steve accepted, he’d be up shit’s creek without a paddle should any bodily harm come to Steve’s new mate. Steve had to hand it to him. Pierce certainly knew how to manipulate the situation to his advantage, giving Steve a new mate on the cusp of the hunter’s moon. Pierce would know that this particular moon marked the start of the Lycan breeding season, and that most of the pups that were born came from hunter’s moon couplings since the urge to fuck was far more pronounced this time of year than any other. Even now, with the bright morning sun peeking up over the horizon, Steve could practically hear the call of the moon, beckoning the ravenous wolf underneath his skin to rise to the surface.

It might have something to do with the increase in lunar gravity, or maybe science had absolutely nothing to do with it, but the fact remained that a hunter’s moon was far more dangerous, for both Lycans and non-Lycans alike, than any other Steve had experienced thus far. It was almost a guarantee that someone would end up getting hurt by daybreak.

Steve swore under his breath. A vote, as Rumlow had suggested, would just delay the inevitable, and Steve was already working on a shortened time frame as it was. But when it came to the wellbeing of his pack, Steve knew there wasn’t a damn thing he wouldn’t do to keep them safe. He could handle whoever Pierce saddled him with, even if it was for life.

So, with that thought in mind, Steve pulled out his phone and called Sam, ready to face the music, thankfully, with his second at his side. 

Predictably, he answered on the first ring.

“What’s the verdict?” Sam asked in place of a greeting. It was fifteen minutes to midnight. Fifteen minutes to their deadline. He sounded about as exhausted and weary as Steve felt, but then again, Steve expected as much from Sam, because there was never a time when Steve truly shouldered the burdens of leadership alone. 

“Yes. We agree. Call me when we have a location,” Steve said briskly and hung up, trusting Sam to handle the liaison for him. Steve didn’t trust himself right then. He pressed his phone against his forehead with a force that threatened to crack the screen until he threw it angrily to the side and slunk back against the cushions of the couch. He knew he should get some sleep ahead of the full moon and what promised to be a very _energetic_ evening, but he was still too hopped up with nerves and apprehension to attempt anything close to rest.

Moonrise would be at 6:13 pm that evening, Steve wondered how close Peirce would cut it. Did he want Steve to lose control right in the middle of the ceremony? _Probably_ , he was forced to conclude; at least he would have if that wouldn’t have endangered his coven and whoever else he’d invited to watch this spectacle. But as the hours ticked by and no call came from Sam, Steve was forced to realize that Peirce planned to cut it very close indeed. 

Finally, a call came at 3 pm. Cutting it very fine indeed, there’d hardly be time for much of a ceremony if they weren’t starting the proceedings until 4 pm. At Peirce’s mansion, no less. Steve supposed it would have been too much to hope that Pierce would've arranged this on neutral grounds. 

“Be ready to go in twenty.” Steve ordered after Sam relayed Natasha’s message. He ended the call and tossed his phone on the counter, feeling his anxiety ramp up as he started to get ready. 

He grabbed a quick shower, scrubbing himself down under the hot spray almost numbly as he prepared to sign his soul over to the devil himself. The thought of taking anyone other than Bucky as a mate turned his stomach sour, even if it was purely for diplomatic reasons. It just felt like the worst kind of betrayal, and Steve wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to look himself in the eye without recoiling in disgust after he went through with this.

But still, if peace between the Lycans and vampires were to ever be achieved in Steve’s lifetime, then sacrifices would have to be made. 

He dressed in a similar state of detachment, pulling on the nicest thing he owned with trembling hands and a swirling gut full of guilt. Though, Steve hadn’t owned a suit since ‘45, and clothing among his packmates was always more functional than it was stylish, so the navy sweater and dark jeans Steve was wearing was about as good as it was going to get in terms of wedding attire. Not that he really cared about his appearance much as of late.

However, Steve hesitated when he caught sight of himself in the bathroom mirror, and against his better judgment, he studied his reflection for a moment, slowly tracing the lines of his face with an appraising gaze. Sometimes it was still a bit of a shock to see how little he’d aged since the day he was bitten, still looking every bit like the twenty-six-year-old soldier that just wanted to do his part. But Steve’s reflection was more haggard and rugged these days than it was back then, his skin wearing the evidence of all those years he’d spent mourning his beloved Bucky. 

Briefly, Steve wondered what Bucky would think if he were able to see how far Steve had fallen into self-neglect. He’d teasingly chide Steve over the length of his hair–long enough to brush the broad stretch of his shoulders, now–and Bucky would surely fuss over how unkempt his beard had become. Steve could practically hear Bucky’s voice in the back of his mind, echoing sweetly as it wrapped around his head. The smile that barely stretched his lips was a pitiful thing, melancholy and bittersweet in the wake of his ghostly presence, but it slipped right off his mouth the second Steve caught sight of it, twisting instead into a heated scowl.

“You’re the reason he’s nothing more than a memory,” Steve bitterly told his reflection, unable to hold the rising tide of his grief at bay as it washed over him once more. “All you had to do was hold him.”

Of course, the image in the mirror didn’t respond. It just stared, pinning him with the same accusing glare Steve himself wore. The wolf within raged underneath his flesh at the sight of it, snarling and snapping its teeth as the two halves that made Steve whole warred with each other. Steve clenched his teeth, balling up his fists as anger and resentment boiled up to the surface, spilling out of his pores in a violent display as he smashed his fist against the mirror, shattering it completely.

“Fuck!” he howled, tugging at his hair hard enough to make himself whimper. Blood and broken glass filled the sink and covered the counter, a few shards even peppering the floor around his feet. Steve could feel the change on the horizon, and it was terrifying, how easily the wolf could swallow him whole, leaving nothing but rage behind in his place. 

Steve glanced down at the watch on his wrist. There were still a few precious hours left until moonrise, but the wolf was insistent on making itself known, mocking Steve with the inevitability of its return. It wouldn’t take much at all to push Steve over the edge, and Steve was sure that Pierce was counting on that–maybe even intending to start a war the second Steve showed a hint of aggression toward them, but like hell would he give that bastard the satisfaction.

“ _Ngh_ –God, not yet.” He panted, trying in vain to even out his heavy breathing. “Calm down. Keep it together. _Don’t lose yourself, Steve. Not yet!”_ He balled his fists and focused on breathing deeply, sucking in great lungfuls of air and shuddering as he fought to regain control of himself. He hadn’t had an asthma attack since childhood, but the anxious nerves that punched a hole in his chest, squeezing his lungs in a tight fist, reminded him of one in the worst possible way. He doubled over and supported himself with his hands on his knees, desperately trying to compose himself before Sam came knocking.

“Pull yourself together, Steve.” He growled at himself, huffing out another deep breath until he could stand upright without feeling like he was shaking apart at the seams. He glanced around at the mess of glass and let out another deep sigh before he headed to the kitchen for a dustpan and brush. A visual display of his short temper would hardly make a welcome first impression for his new mate. Which, Steve froze with the dustpan in his hands and glanced around the rest of his home. Should he have made more of an effort to clean it up? 

In the end, he decided it was too late to care about it, much like it was too late to care about his appearance. Besides, it hardly mattered. Steve was under no illusions that this union would end it anything other than a lifetime of cool acquaintance; whatever sorry soul Peirce had forced into this was never going to love him. The best he could hope for was that they might grow to become friends. 

He threw the glass shards in the trash and made a measly attempt to wipe up the blood from the sink before he straightened his sweater and ran a hand through his hopelessly shaggy hair. _Here goes nothing,_ he thought as he grabbed his keys and headed out to meet Sam. 

“You know, you don’t have to do this,” Sam told him as they drove towards the address Natasha had texted them. “We can find another way.”

“Not one as easy as this. Not one that doesn’t endanger countless others.” Steve shook his head and let his head loll against the cool glass of the car window as Sam drove. The streets were just beginning to fill with the first trick-or-treaters, the little kids accompanied by their parents who were going door to door before it got dark. Steve spotted three children dressed up as werewolves as they drove past; their cute fuzzy masks were a poor imitation of the real thing. As always, he couldn’t decide how it made him feel, seeing people willfully dress their children up as monsters. He shivered when he thought of what his mother might have to say if she could see him now; on his way to marry someone he’d never met at the behest of someone even more monstrous than he was. 

“You scared?” Sam asked, sparing a glance at Steve as he navigated the darkened roads. 

“Not exactly. I just never thought it would happen like this.”

“Sucks that we didn’t even get to throw you a bachelor party,” Sam agreed with a smirk. That wasn’t exactly what Steve had meant, but he went with it, sitting upright and offering Sam a smile. He knew he had no place to complain about ruined expectations, not with Riley’s death so fresh for all of them. 

“Clint always said he wanted to get you a stripper that jumped out of a giant cake.”

Steve snorted. “Maybe it’s a good thing there _wasn’t_ time to throw me a party then,” he laughed. 

Sam turned off the interstate and headed onto a winding road that wound its way into the middle of nowhere, paying close attention to the directions of the SatNav inbuilt on the dashboard of his fancy four-by-four. Another technological wonder Steve wished Bucky would have been able to marvel at; a SatNav sure would have been useful when they were trying to navigate the western front by torchlight and a map drawn from memory. 

“We’re here.” Sam pulled into a sweeping gravel drive that popped and crunched under their tires. He pulled the car to a halt in the center or the carriage driveway, alongside Natasha who stood on the bottom step of a deep stone staircase that led up to a grand doorway flanked by neoclassical columns, carefully shaded in the shadow of the house. She looked as sleek and intimidatingly elegant as always. 

“You could have at least made an effort.” She tutted at Steve’s appearance. He dragged a hand through his hair and tried not to lunge at her there and then. “Not even a jacket, Steven, seriously?”

“I’m here aren’t I?” He growled. “Just the two of us, as instructed. So where is he? Where’s Pierce? Let’s just get this over with.”

“Now, is that any way to talk about your nuptials?” Natasha’s white, pointed teeth flashed as she smiled. “He’s waiting inside.” She turned on her heel and led them up a flight of stone steps to an imposing front door that opened as soon as she approached, letting her walk through without breaking stride. Her heels clicked on the polished floors as they walked through a grand entrance hallway that dripped with grandeur so ostentatious it made Steve’s teeth hurt when he ground them together in distaste. 

He felt the eyes of Peirce’s coven on them as they walked past the sweeping staircase, peering down from the gallery above. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, but he didn’t give them the satisfaction of looking up. 

“I hate this,” Sam muttered under his breath, barely a whisper but filled with vitriol. “It could still be a trap.”

“It could be. But Pierce loses more than he gains if he strikes now,” Steve reassured Sam with a whispered reply as Natasha showed them through into what must have been Pierce’s study. 

Ancient looking books lined the walls in floor-to-ceiling shelves and thick, velvet drapes the color of ripe plums lined the windows. They were thrown open now, looking out over a terrace that faced north, lined with marble balustrades above sweeping manicured lawns. Steve could sense the threat of the moonrise, the promise of a silvery glow pressing against a horizon shrouded by thick trees. Taunting him. 

He tore his eyes from the window and turned to find Peirce lording behind a deep mahogany desk. His hands were steepled in front of him and he smiled at Steve with the smug expression of someone who’d just called checkmate. Steve smiled back, letting out a hint of a growl as he did; Pierce didn’t need to know that Steve had no intention of playing his little game any longer. Steve would sign the treaty, he’d marry whatever war bride Peirce forced him too, and he’d quash down the violence that rippled under his skin. He’d made it 75 years without hurting someone he didn’t intend to, he wasn’t about to start now. 

“Steven,” Pierce started with a fanged grin. “Always a pleasure.”

“Likewise.” Steve lied, gritting his teeth so hard that were he a mere human, the bones in his jaw would crack under the pressure of his bite. It was all he could do to contain the wolf within, considering the circumstances where failure to do so was not an option. For now, at least until the moon’s beckoning call was too strong for him to ignore, Steve would just have to grin and bear it. 

“I must admit, I didn’t think you would show up here today,” Pierce confessed as he rose from his seat, not without an undercurrent of satisfaction in his tone, of course. “Much less that you’d agree to my terms, considering our colorful history.”

The wolf within snarled viciously, baring its teeth at the insult. It took a moment for Steve to realize that he had taken a step forward against his own will, fists clenched and jaw squared. But Sam’s hand on his shoulder was quick to stop Steve’s advance, his grip harsh and grounding, just as Steve needed it to be in times such as this.

It was obvious that Pierce was trying to bait them, aiming to get a reaction by attributing the ruthless murder of so many innocent Lycans to a petty squabble over territory. Steve hadn’t forgotten about the attack Pierce led on the nursery in the spring of 81’. Steve could count on one hand how many pups survived to see adulthood from those litters--Clint, fortunately, being among them. However, the wound that was left behind that day still festered within the hearts of Steve’s pack, and he knew deep down in the marrow of his bones that such a thing wouldn’t be forgiven so easily.

If Steve were being honest with himself, it would be a miracle if his vampiric mate survived to see daylight at all.

“I wouldn’t describe the systematic slaughter of my kith and kin as ‘colorful history’, Pierce” Steve spat. “But that’s the difference between us, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps,” Pierce offered with a condescending smile and a simple shrug of his shoulders. “Though, I’d like to believe that your presence here today means that those trespasses are wholly forgiven, as your sins against this coven are mercifully absolved through this blessed union. That is your purpose here, is it not? To forgive and forget?” 

Steve didn’t answer beyond a stiff nod of his head. It was clear that Pierce didn’t care about the lives that had been lost, on either side, as it turned out. Though, Steve wasn’t naive enough to think that Pierce would suddenly grow a conscience, or even apologize for the atrocities he’d committed over the years. His disinterest was genuine, and really, Steve had come to expect nothing less from the walking corpse in front of him. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” Steve grumbled, inciting a snort of laughter from the vampire across from him. The bastard.

“Yes, of course,” Pierce waved his hand at Steve dismissively as he rounded the desk, heading toward the door adjacent to them. “We’ve delayed these proceedings long enough, and I’m sure, what with moonrise fast approaching, that you have other, more _pressing_ matters that you’d like to attend to.”

Steve muttered a curse under his breath as Pierce breezed past them, and the grip Sam still had on his shoulder only tightened all the more when the vampire rapped his knuckles on the heavy wooden door three times before he stepped to the side of it expectantly.

“On your left,” Sam whispered next to Steve’s ear, and Steve nodded, keeping his eyes locked on the door as the decorative brass knob turned and the door promptly swung open. 

At first, Steve was taken aback by the unassuming figure that stood stock still in the doorway, dressed in stiff cocktail attire that eerily mirrored the suits Bucky used to wear from the 40s. Just looking at it made Steve’s skin itch unpleasantly; the tailored trousers, the crisp button-up shirt, the tight waistcoat that looked as if it would rip clean in two if the man before him made any sudden movements. _Just as Bucky preferred them to be,_ Steve’s mind promptly supplied.

“Come,” Pierce ordered with a sharp snap of his fingers, and Steve watched as the veiled figure moved to stand at Pierce’s side, his head tilted down to stare at the floor; silent as the grave and perfectly obedient, almost as if he’d been conditioned to act in such a way. Steve wouldn’t put it past Pierce. Everything the vampire did was a fucking power play. Steve’s stomach twisted at the macabre display, and it was apparent to him, then, just how little say in the matter this person seemingly had.

“What’s this about?” Steve pointedly asked, referring to the black veil the man wore to cover his face. Just as a bride would when meeting their spouse at the altar.

“Admittedly, I’m a bit of a sucker for tradition,” Pierce flippantly answered. The bastard even had the gall to laugh about it as he toyed with the hem of the veil, as if this entire thing was one big joke, rather than the life-altering matter it truly was. “And I thought--rather foolishly, perhaps--that you might be appreciative of that, too, given your origins. You are the groom, after all, Steven, and this,” Pierce grinned as he lifted the veil, “is your bride.”

Steve recoiled in shock as the veil was lifted, and in an instant, Steve found himself standing face-to-face with Bucky for the first time since he’d fallen. Bucky, who looked identical to the man who haunted Steve’s dreams and memories. His hair was set with the same neat wave he’d perfected in the thirties, and dressed in a suit that looked so familiar, it was like seeing a ghost. 

“Bucky?” he croaked out, taking a tentative step forward.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” Bucky’s face remained impassive, betraying nothing but slight confusion. 

Steve assumed it was a trick, because what else could it be? Bucky had fallen from the train—he’d died. Oh god, he’d _died_. Pierce must have found him. Steve always regretted not pushing harder to be allowed to look for Bucky, but never more so than now. If the full moon hadn’t followed hot on the heels of Bucky’s fall, nothing would have stopped Steve from disobeying orders and going AWOL to try and find him; but whilst Bucky had been left frozen at the bottom of some godforsaken ravine in the alps, Steve had been battling his first transformation, trying to understand what the hell was happening to his body and his mind. 

God, if he only knew then what he knew right now.

“Bucky, it’s me. It’s Steve,” Steve took another half step forwards. This time Bucky took a step back. He glanced up at Pierce, his pale blue eyes seeking out affirmation from the monster that did this to him, and Steve’s heart cracked in two at the sight of it. 

“My name is James,” Bucky said slowly. Steve didn’t know if he was imagining the trace of uncertainty he found hidden in Bucky’s tone, but he hoped that he wasn’t. 

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve agreed. “I’m Steve Rogers. I’ve known you since we were kids.” 

A flicker of confusion crossed Bucky’s otherwise impassive face. It physically hurt Steve to see Bucky so stoic and immovable, looking more like a marble statue than the living, breathing man he loved. Steve knew that if he reached out for Bucky his hands would be as cold as the ice that Steve had lost him too, and the thought alone was unbearable. 

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice was even, lacking any trace of recognition. Steve couldn’t take it anymore. 

“What the fuck did you do to him!?” Steve rounded on Pierce, flaring his nostrils, gritting his teeth, and letting the wolf bubble under his skin; one wrong move away from bursting forth.

“I saved his life.” Pierce smiled. “I thought you’d be grateful.”

“Grateful?” Steve choked on the word. Grateful that Bucky had been turned into a creature of the undead, a soulless, bloodsucking beast? Grateful that he’d spent the last seventy-five years thinking Bucky was dead? Grateful that Pierce had sprung a wedding on them without warning? Grateful that Bucky seemed to have no memories of him? “This is all just a game to you, isn’t it?” Steve demanded. “Toying with people, how long have you been planning this?”

“Why Steven, I’m quite sure I don’t know what you mean.” 

Steve growled, and it was only Sam’s hand reaching out to grab his shoulder and hold him back that stopped Steve from going feral on the man. 

“The full moon approaches. You’re running out of time, Steven. Are you ready to make your vows?”

Steve wanted to sob. How many times had he and Bucky pretended they might have been able to get married someday? They’d held a fake ceremony in a bombed-out church in France, with Dum Dum acting as the priest whilst the others tittered behind them. They’d draped a pair of long johns around Dum Dum’s neck to appropriate a priest’s stole and swapped each other’s dog tags instead of rings. Steve still had Bucky’s tucked in the drawer beside his bed. Steve remembered every word of what he’d said to Bucky, the promise to love and protect him as long as they both shall live. But he’d failed in that, hadn’t he? 

Of course he had. The pale, lifeless creature Bucky had since become was proof enough of that.

“Or, is he not to your liking?” Pierce added after a beat, the grin that stretched his wrinkled face still as smug as it ever was, if not more, and Steve’s never wanted to tear out someone’s throat as much as he did right then. “I can certainly see why you'd think so. James is somewhat of a dull creature. Though, I feel it's prudent to remind you that this particular part of the contract is non-negotiable. If you refuse to wed James under any circumstances, the treaty becomes null and void right here and now."

At Steve’s answering growl, Pierce took a steady step forward, crowding into Steve’s space with a certain level of surety that made the hackles on the back of his neck raise in warning. Sam kept a bruising hold on Steve's arm, keeping him grounded even as Steve stepped up to the challenge with a thunderous snarl rumbling in the muscled barrel of his chest. 

The sound alone would have been more than enough to turn a lesser man's knees to jelly, but Pierce–the smug bastard–only reveled in it. Steve’s agitation was reaching its peak, but that's exactly what Pierce wanted. He’d do anything he could to see Steve lose control, because then–at least for Pierce–the bloodshed that would follow after would be justified.

Steve could feel how fragile his control over himself was becoming with the setting of the sun, and it wouldn't take much more provocation from Pierce before this little wedding of theirs became nothing more than a glorified bloodbath, and as much as Steve craved to tear the flesh from Pierce’s bones, he didn’t want Bucky to be caught on the wrong side of his rage. It was difficult enough for Steve to discern friend from foe when the moon was full and the lines between man and wolf were blurred beyond comprehension. Adding Bucky–who Steve already felt a primitive sort of possessiveness over–into the mix was just asking for trouble. Which, if Steve thought about it, was precisely the part of Steve Pierce was trying to exploit.

“One wrong move, and it wouldn’t take much more than a simple snap of my fingers to put you down like the mongrel dog you are, Steven.” Pierce grinned wickedly as he sized Steve up, running those dead, pale-blue eyes up and down the hulking frame of the Lycan before him. Steve could smell a sliver of fear hidden underneath Pierce’s mask of composure, and the wolf under his skin howled with delight. “Sign the contract. Take your bride and leave with the peace I’m so graciously offering.”

“Steve,” Sam warned when the curl of Steve’s fists tightened with obvious intent. “Moonrise is in an hour. If we wanna make it back before--”

“Alright,” Steve barked, cutting him off a bit too harshly. He shrugged out of Sam’s grip and swiped a pen off of Pierce’s desk. He hesitated for a moment as he leaned over the document, casting a wary glance up towards Bucky, hoping against all reason that he’d find some small hint of the person Bucky used to be in the grey of his eyes. But of course, there was nothing but carefully concealed fear etched into the soft lines of Bucky’s face. The vampire had gone back to staring at the floor, his expression blank and his posture stiff with tension. He was petrified, and Steve’s heart shattered all over again at the sight of it.

Bucky had no say in any of this, that much was clear, but there was no way Steve was leaving this room tonight without him.

With a quick swipe of his pen, Steve signed his soul over to Alexander Pierce. But for Bucky, it was a price he’d pay ten times over if he had to. Contracts can always be amended, Steve reminded himself as he turned to level Pierce with a questioning glare, and if Bucky truly didn’t know him and didn’t want to be with Steve of his own volition when all was said and done, then he’d find a way to set Bucky free, even though it would likely kill what was left of Steve’s soul to have to lose him again.

“It’s done,” Steve said, but Pierce didn’t seem satisfied yet. The vampire reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a silver disk, clicking it open with a quick press of his thumb. The innocuous object was similar to a pocket watch in shape and size, but Steve knew a blood marker when he saw one. 

“For posterity.” Pierce shrugged as he slid the marker across the desk. Steve’s entire being recoiled at the gesture, knowing in the back of his mind that simply touching that marker would burn his skin worse than a brand. 

“Sign the marker with your blood, Steven, and James is yours.”

So much for amending the contract, Steve thought bitterly. Once he signed in blood, the deal would become unbreakable. He fixed Pierce with a glower and braced himself before he pressed his index finger against the blood marker. Steve barely contained the yelp of pain that crawled up his throat as the blood marker seared against him, drawing burning blood into the seal for Pierce to stamp across the bottom of the contract. The iron-rich smell of fresh blood filled the air, and Bucky’s nostrils flared. He snapped his eyes to Steve and for a moment his expression betrayed a look of want, the first real emotion he’d expressed all evening. At least that was a good sign, Steve supposed, before he retracted his burning finger and balled it into a fist by his side; focusing on betraying just how much it hurt to spill that drop of blood to seal the contract. 

“Congratulations. You may now kiss the bride.” Pierce beamed. 

Steve looked longingly at Bucky, and though he often dreamed of kissing those lips again, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He wouldn’t, not whilst Bucky couldn’t remember him, not when it looked like the last thing on earth Bucky wanted to do.

“James,” Pierce urged, with a sinister undertone creeping into his voice. 

Bucky moved fast, quicker than Steve expected, and before he had time to react, Bucky had crossed the space between them and pulled Steve into a kiss. Steve flinched at the cold press of Bucky’s lips against his, and the eerie absence of any taste or smell. He was too frozen with shock to even think about kissing back, and Bucky pulled away, letting a flicker of disappointment cross his face before it shuttered back into the unreadable marble mask.

“Bucky…” Steve croaked out. He belatedly reached out towards Bucky, but he’d pulled himself out of reach, and Steve’s arm was left grasping uselessly at thin air. Pierce looked delighted by the whole thing.

“I would have offered you a wedding banquet, but I have a feeling you’ll be far too eager to take your new bride home. Full moon approaches.” 

Steve didn’t need the reminder.

Thankfully Pierce showed them to a side door which would spare them having to walk under the gaze of the rest of the coven who had no doubt been desperately trying to eavesdrop on the proceedings. Steve was a little perturbed to find Bucky had no luggage, or belongings at all that he planned to take with him (worse, that Pierce was amused by Steve’s assumption that Bucky might have collected some personal artifacts in the seventy-five years since he’d been turned), but it was hardly the most distressing thing that had happened all evening. 

“It was a pleasure doing business with you!” Pierce called after them, waving from the back door as Steve hurried down the gravel path towards the driveway with Bucky in tow and an unusually quiet Sam bringing up the rear. 

Business. The word sent a shiver down Steve’s spine, but that’s what it had been reduced to. Nothing more than a business transaction, one very reluctantly entered into at that. 

Bucky eyed the pick-up truck with distaste as Steve held the rear passenger door open for him, but he elegantly slid into the backseat after a momentary pause. He folded himself into the seat, managing to look both dignified and disgruntled, keeping his chin tilted up and his gaze pointedly averted from the house. Steve glanced back up at the front steps as he crossed behind the car to open the other passenger door. Natasha was standing on the top step, the only one who’d come out to wave bucky off — although Steve noticed many more shapes lurking as shadows from the front windows of the house. She waved at them as Sam took the driver’s seat and pulled off, completing the loop of the carriage driveway and heading for home. 

It had all been over in a flash, so formal and impersonal that Steve could hardly believe it had been a wedding at all. Steve glanced behind him into the backseat to double-check that Bucky's presence was real, and hadn't been just a new twist on his nightmares. But no, Bucky was sitting there in the flesh, as silent as the grave.

“It’s gonna be okay, Bucky.” Steve made the promise to himself more than anything. “You’ll be safe with me.”

Bucky held his eyes for a long moment before his glassy gaze slid away to look out through the window. Steve took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to hold himself together. If he let his emotions crumble now, he knew he’d lose what little grip he had left over the wolf; and they were still a long way from home. 


	3. Chapter Three: Bucky

“It’s gonna be okay, Bucky. You’ll be safe with me,” the man said. Steve–his _husband_. James wanted to believe him, and he would have if Pierce hadn't said the same thing all those years ago when he’d awoken in the snow, half-dead and consumed with agony. Partially frozen, more bones broken than not, his left arm hanging by literal threads, James was convinced he’d been about to die. Perhaps he would have preferred it to what had come next. 

It had been fun for a few decades. Pierce doted on him, treating him to all the finer things in life: clothes, jewelry, all the blood he craved. All he had to do in return was stand there and look pretty, or charm Pierce’s connections with his natural inclination to flirt. He was kept sated and made to feel important and it helped him to ignore the nagging uncertainty that there was something important James was forgetting. Something about his old life. He’d had no memories after Pierce had turned him, but the dog tags around his neck bore a name: James B. Barnes. There was a second, with a different name, which James knew was unusual. Steven G. Rogers. James had instinctively known that wasn’t him. He’d seen flashes of blond hair, blue eyes, and a crooked smile when he’d first read the name, accompanied by a warm glow in his chest he couldn’t explain; something that almost felt like a heartbeat, he supposed.

It was strange, not feeling his heartbeat or his pulse. He’d never noticed before that your heartbeat was something you could hear; an echo behind your ears that went unnoticed because it had been there all your life. But without it, the silence was deafening. 

It was cold too, without warm blood circulating at a steady pace. James had always hated being cold. He had faint memories of piling on extra blankets, of icy toes pressed between his legs and cold fingers clasped around his hands. He knew the cold was dangerous, it meant illness and death, and now James was never free from it. No matter how many layers of the expensive silks and velvets Peirce bought for him, even if he wore gloves, nothing seemed to keep out the chill. 

He tried to ask questions about who he’d been before, but Pierce neither knew nor cared, and even James’ curiosity was treated as ingratitude for everything Pierce had given him. James kept hold of the dog tags, wondering who his mysterious Steve might have been, if he’d had any other family, and if they’d grieved for him. Too many soldiers went missing in the war for James B. Barnes to have been anything other than another MIA presumed dead. His family would have received a telegram telling them he’d died a heroic death in the service of his country, and as the decades wore on without James aging, he was forced to presume his Steve would have lived and died without him; if he’d even made it through the war himself. 

Eventually, James stopped asking questions. He stopped worrying about anything beyond the affairs of the coven. He was grateful, after all, that Pierce had taken him in and taken such good care of him and James strove to demonstrate his appreciation at every turn. But the novelty soon wore off. It took less than half a century before Peirce got bored with him. The charms that had once endeared James to him, Pierce now found to be insufferable. His flirtatious manner was something to be ridiculed. 

Suddenly, James found that he had to work for his own kills and prove his worth within the coven, which was difficult when James had never wanted to hurt anyone in his life. It had been easier to ignore where all the blood had been coming from before then. They’d always seemed so willing, so eager to get their hands on James, to let him use his clever mouth whilst Pierce watched on, before they were too blissed out and foggy from an orgasm that they barely notice when James latched his teeth to their jugular and drank their blood deep into his veins.

On his own, James made a pretty pathetic excuse for a vampire. Pierce had always kept him shielded and sidelined from their disputes with the werewolves, and if he wasn’t entertaining Pierce’s contacts then there wasn’t any way for James to make himself useful to the coven. When Pierce proposed the marriage contract, James knew it wasn’t a choice. It was a punishment for failing to be everything Pierce wanted him to be. By then James had given up on redeeming himself. He knew the risks. Pierce had spared no effort in spelling them out for him. Werewolves were ruthless, vicious creatures with no self-control. If that wasn’t bad enough, the marriage was taking place on a full moon, so James knew he was unlikely to survive the night. 

“You’ll be serving the greater good, James. Isn’t that what you've always wanted?” Pierce had told him, with a smile that looked almost proud, preying on James’ entrenched desire to please. “We’re at war. Sacrifices must be made for the good of the coven. If you die, well, just think of all the lives you’ll save by forging peace.” Pierce had reached out to him then and cupped his jaw. It was instinct for James to nuzzle towards it, still seeking warmth and comfort from Pierce's palm. Of course, he received neither. 

He was dressed in a suit, tailored impeccably to his exact measurements, but when he went to pack his belongings Pierce had laughed in his face. What belongings? Everything James thought he had owned belonged to Pierce. All he had were the clothes he stood in. He didn’t even have his dog tags anymore. Pierce had disposed of them almost as soon as they’d been discovered. Bucky’s skin itched underneath his suit, and he couldn’t help but feel like a corpse dressed up by the undertakers in his best clothes one last time. 

“Your husband will provide for you. If he doesn’t kill you before he gets the chance. Devil dogs,” Pierce muttered under his breath as James fixed his hair and tried not to betray his trembling nerves. “Do make sure you're a good wife for him, now won’t you? Your best chance of survival is if he bonds with you. And there’s only one way to make that happen.” Pierce clamped his hands down on James’ shoulders and smiled at their reflections. “You’ll have to consummate the marriage before dawn. Otherwise, the bond won’t take.” Pierce squeezed James’ shoulders and purposefully ignored the look of shock that crossed James’ face. “Here, a little something extra.” James stood stock still as Pierce produced a veil and draped it artfully over James’ face. “A beautiful bride. Almost enough to make me jealous. Wait here until you’re called.” With that, Pierce left James to fret and stew. 

If he had a heartbeat it would have been doing double time, hammering away in his chest as he waited and listened to the arrival of the man who would either love him or kill him before dawn. He tried to picture what he might look like based on the sound of his voice alone; deep, and angry. He already sounded like he was spitting feathers, which only made James’ anxiety spike even more. 

Three sharp raps on the door shocked James out of his thoughts. He drew in a deep breath from sheer reflex alone and opened the door with a confident swing. James tried to recall the charm that had once come to him so naturally before Pierce quashed it with derision. 

“Come,” Pierce ordered and James obediently stepped to his side, eyes automatically dropping to the floor, which let the veil hang loose in front of his face. James took the opportunity to dart his eyes up through the black lace, taking a good look at the man he was being married off to. He was handsome, James allowed, in a very rugged sort of way. He had a head of thick, dark blond hair that slightly curled behind his ears in choppy strands that could use a good trim, and his bushy beard was a bit unkempt as well. He might have been beautiful, if he hadn’t been scowling, and if he’d heard of a tailor. The man was wearing jeans and a sweater to their wedding for fuck's sake.

Bucky’s heart sank with bitter disappointment; if that’s the care he took to dress for the wedding, it showed how little it meant to him. What possible hope did James have of bonding with him and living out the night if James was already irrelevant to him? 

“What’s this?” the man growled, gesturing at James. James feared at first that the man had already found a fault with him before he realized he was talking about the veil.

“Admittedly, I’m a bit of a sucker for tradition and I thought — rather foolishly, perhaps — that you might be appreciative of that too, given your origins,” Pierce answered flippantly, leaving James to wonder what that meant. What came next felt almost like a cruel and twisted joke. “You are the groom, after all, Steven—”

James’ heart leaped into his throat at the sound of the name and his eyes darted up to the man’s face as Pierce removed the veil with a flourish. 

“—and this, is your bride.”

Steven. It was like Pierce was mocking him for all the times James had dared to ask about his life before. 

The man recoiled, looking like he’d seen a ghost, and James couldn’t help but frown in confusion. He searched the man’s face, but although the blue of his eyes was similar to the color that haunted James’ dreams, there was no other trace of familiarity. 

“Bucky?” Steven croaked, taking a tentative step forward. 

“Who the hell is Bucky?” 

“Bucky it’s me. It’s Steve.” Steve took another half a step forward, some strong emotion flared through him, and James was certain that if the man were in his wolf form his hackles would have been raised. James instinctively took a step back and glanced at Pierce, half wondering if this was all some kind of practical joke. If it was, James didn’t understand, and he didn’t find it funny. 

“My name is James,” James said slowly. 

“James Buchanan Barnes.” Steve agreed. “I’m Steve Rogers. I've known you since we were kids.”

James’ breath would have caught in his throat if he still had breath to exhale or lungs that worked. “Steve?” he asked. He didn’t understand. The Steve he’d known would have been at least ninety by now. It had to be a trick. Something Pierce had concocted. 

“What the fuck did you do to him?!” Steve demanded, bristling with a fit of anger that came so easily to him, just like Pierce had warned. James quietly trembled, expecting at any moment for that anger to be unleashed upon him in a gruesome display of violence. He was panicking too much to follow the conversation, none of which made any sense until he caught Pierce’s usual jeering tone.

“Or is he not to your liking? I can certainly see why you’d think so. James is somewhat of a dull creature.”

James dropped his gaze and tried to ignore the feeling of shame that swooped through his gut. He was going to fail already. The feral growl that ripped from Steve’s throat certainly seemed to express his disappointment, and the last of James’ hopes was crushed. It was foolish to even think there might be a chance of bonding, of course James wasn’t desirable enough for that. The added sting came when Steve refused to even kiss him; staying rooted to the spot when Pierce pronounced them married.

“You may now kiss the bride,” Pierce sneered.

But Steve stayed stock still. Hatred and anger etched into his features.

“James,” Pierce gently reminded him, and James moved fast, closing the distance between him and Steve to capture Steve’s lips with as much tenderness as he could muster. Even then Steve failed to respond. 

James drew back, filled with deep resignation. He could only hope that Steve would make it quick when he killed him. 


	4. Chapter Four: Steve

“I know it's not much but, please make yourself at home,” Steve had awkwardly muttered when they finally stood at the front of the house; alone with each other for the first time since 1945. Sam had dropped them off a bit hastily the second they pulled up to Steve’s place, which was understandable, considering the circumstances. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, painting the entire landscape in the dusty shades of dusk, and It wouldn’t be long now until the light of the moon brought out the worst in all of them. Sam—as well as Steve— knew how detrimental it would be if Sam was caught hanging around when the wolf finally broke free of its human-shaped cocoon. 

As supreme Alpha, Steve was the most volatile of them all; possessive and protective with an explosive temper that was set on a hair-trigger, just waiting to go off at the slightest provocation. Bucky’s presence, of course, would only intensify that tenfold. It was better for everyone involved—Bucky included—if Steve were alone when the moon bathed his body in its accursed light, coaxing out the monster imprisoned behind his ribs. That, however, wasn’t a possibility for him any longer. Steve had a mate now—even if their bond was only in spirit, rather than torn into their flesh—and once the change began, there’d be no telling what he would do to Bucky when the last bit of control slipped from between his fingers.

Bucky, who’d undoubtedly been told the absolute worst about Steve’s kind, nodded stiffly at the gesture, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was obvious to Steve that Bucky was reluctant to be alone in a confined space with a werewolf on the cusp of the change. Steve couldn’t fault him for that, and if he were in Bucky’s place, he couldn’t say he’d be much different. 

The house itself was nice enough, modern with a rustic twist that honored the woodland life he led. Steve could tell that it wasn’t anything Bucky had been expecting, with its floor to ceiling windows that lined the sides of the cabin, offering a generous peek of the warm lighting, comfortable-looking living room furniture, and the chrome-finished appliances that filled up the spacious kitchen. 

Pierce had probably told Bucky a multitude of falsehoods about Steve’s kind, no doubt implying how barbaric and uncivilized the Lycans were with every word he spoke. Steve’s heard the nasty rumors and blatant lies for himself, so all of this must be terribly confusing for Bucky, who most likely believed that Steve was taking him back to an actual wolf den rather than a cozy little cabin tucked into the heart of the forest.

Bucky chewed his lip as he stepped over the threshold, now fully enveloped in Lycan territory and looking every bit like a frightened deer mere moments away from becoming a hungry wolf’s dinner. Steve followed him inside, closing and locking the front door behind him. They ended up in the living room, standing next to the sliding glass door that led out onto the patio. Moonrise was mere moments away, and the wolf was getting restless. Time was quickly running out, and Steve didn’t know what to do.

“There’s so much I want to say to you,” Steve finally said, when the silence between them and the resigned look in Bucky’s eyes became far too unbearable for him to stand any longer. “But I‘m not sure it would make a difference.”

Bucky didn’t react much beyond a stiff shrug of his shoulders, and a mirthless smile that barely touched his lips. He hadn’t been able to look Steve in the eye yet, or acknowledge him past a few stilted words and fleeting glances, and it clawed at Steve’s insides worse than the wolf on even his worst nights. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” Bucky murmured, so soft and quiet that even with his enhanced hearing, Steve had to strain to be able to hear it at all. “In the end, it won't matter.” Bucky finally looked up at him then, and a barrage of complicated emotions flashed lighting-quick in the pale blue of his eyes. But no more than a second later, Bucky had squared his jaw and straightened out his spine, closing the distance between them in a blinding flash that left Steve reeling and dizzy.

Steve barely had time to react to the kiss, so sudden and unprompted that it nearly bowled him over. Cold lips pressed hard against his mouth as the icy hand in Steve’s hair yanked him forward, urging Steve into action with an insistent swipe of his tongue. Instinctually, and against Steve’s better judgment, a pleased purr erupted from his chest, and his hands—now clamped around Bucky’s slender hips in a crushing grip that would have easily broken a lesser being’s bones—squeezed, pulling Bucky that much closer to him before he slammed Bucky’s back up against the window; rattling the glass from the force of it.

Sharp teeth sank into his lower lip in retaliation, flooding Steve’s mouth with the metallic tang of his own blood, and Steve _snarled_ , low and predatory as Bucky chased after the taste with a wanton moan. But rather than let him as Steve desperately wanted to, he tore his mouth away, using every last ounce of control he had left to stop this before it even started. 

"Wait–Bucky, _no. Stop!"_ Steve tried, panting as he pulled away, but Bucky wouldn’t—no, _couldn't_ relent, it seemed. He chased the heat of Steve’s kiss in an undignified frenzy, arching his back and straining with all his might to try and break the hold Steve now had on his shoulders; keeping him pressed firmly against the window. Bucky’s mouth and chin were streaked with Steve’s blood, wide eyes blown as black as pitch. The whine caught in his throat was laced with desperation, but in a way that just felt inherently _wrong,_ considering that mere moments before, Bucky seemed as if he’d wanted nothing to do with Steve at all _._

 _"Please!"_ Bucky sobbed—practically _begged_ , still trying and failing to pull Steve closer, to coax him into something he knew in his heart they'd both regret. "Steve–p-please! Don't you want me?"

Steve could hardly breathe. "Not like this."

Did this have something to do with Pierce? God only knew what that bastard told Bucky about Steve and what he should expect for the hunter’s moon. It was a mating moon, yes, but it wouldn’t have affected Bucky the same way it did Steve.

No. This was something else. Steve could practically sense Pierce’s influence all over it, and the thought made his hackles raise in agitation. Without thought, Steve bared his teeth, a low, warning rumble rising from his chest as the wolf raged beneath his skin.

He'd tear out Pierce’s throat for this. Treaty be damned.

His hands spammed and clenched, and an unholy fire suddenly raced through his veins as the rage he felt grew and spread, infecting each cell with that old, familiar bloodlust that washed over him with each passing of the moon.

“No, you have to. Please, I can be good for you,” Bucky begged, his hands tugged at Steve’s shirt with surprising strength, stopping Steve from pulling away too far. “It’ll feel so good. I promise.” Bucky was pleading. Steve could see the desperation in Bucky’s eyes and it broke Steve’s heart. 

“Bucky, _stop_ ,” Steve snapped. He twisted himself free and backed away from the window, but Bucky followed quick as a flash and started pawing at Steve’s jeans instead, crowding him backward with a desperate determination until Steve felt his back collide sharply with the wall.

“Let me make you feel good,” Bucky continued to beg, sounding more distraught by the minute. Steve was beginning to wonder what lies Pierce had told Bucky would happen if they didn’t sleep together. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“We don’t have to do this.” Steve grabbed Bucky’s slender, but deceptively strong wrists and held them away from his fly. Bucky squirmed in his grip and Steve felt so guilty for having to use force, but he _couldn’t—_ he _wouldn’t_ sleep with Bucky like this. No matter how much the wolf was howling for him to mate, Steve wouldn’t do anything without Bucky’s complete consent, and from the frantic way Bucky was acting—Steve was pretty sure Bucky was unable to consent to anything right then. 

“We do! Please, I won’t disappoint you. I’ve never had complaints before.”

Steve’s stomach roiled. Before? Was this something Pierce did often? Whoring Bucky out? Steve wanted to vomit. He wanted to rip Pierce limb from limb.

“It’ll be good,” Bucky was murmuring to himself as much as he was to Steve, fighting to free himself so that he could try and attack Steve’s clothes once more. It was so difficult not to snap and snarl and throw Bucky across the room. If it had been anyone else, Steve was certain he would have already lost control, no matter how desperate he was not to void the treaty. The moon was steadily creeping towards the horizon, Steve could feel its influence tugging at his blood like the tide, but Bucky’s blue eyes kept him tethered to his humanity a stretch longer. No matter how heartbroken and terrified they looked; it was _Bucky_. Steve wouldn’t hurt him, which is why this insanity had to end now. 

“NO! STOP!” Steve commanded in an Alpha tone that would have sent any of his pack members reeling from him. Bucky’s resolve cracked and he fell to the floor, letting his arms go limp in Steve’s grip. 

“I’m sorry I’m not good enough,” he sobbed and Steve nearly followed him to the floor.

“Oh, _Buck_ , you are.” Steve was going to make Pierce pay for all the lies he’d fed Bucky. “You’re everything to me. Which is why this has to stop. I won’t touch you like this, not when you don’t even remember who I am.” He wanted to reach for Bucky and cup his jaw, wipe away the lone tear that tracked down his cheek. But Steve didn’t trust his strength, with the moon just moments from wrestling his control away from him, Steve was liable to crush Bucky’s jaw rather than caress it. 

“Remember?” Bucky’s eyes flicked back up to Steve’s face and his lips parted, showing off a glimpse of the fangs that had felt so strange, but wonderful, against Steve's tongue. He looked young, so fragile, so lost. It broke Steve’s heart. “I remember you,” he lied, clearly telling Steve what he thought Steve needed to hear. Something broke inside Steve then. It felt like his chest had been ripped open. He choked on his breath and shook his head, unable to listen any longer. But Bucky powered on, not knowing the hurt he was causing Steve.

“Steven...Rogers.” Bucky’s eyes were blown wide whilst his brow creased in confusion and concentration. “Steven...G…” he screwed his eyes shut. “I do remember...we...we knew each other? Please…” When he flicked his eyes open once more they were full of pain and desperation. 

A raw sob ripped itself from Steve’s chest and as he battled to hold back his emotions, he felt himself losing his grip on the wolf. He couldn’t control both and honestly, he didn’t know which would cause more harm. The wolf might bodily injure Bucky, but Bucky’s fragile emotional state was just as likely to get torn to shreds if Steve revealed how distressed he was by Bucky’s return from the dead, with no recollection of him. Steve dropped Bucky’s hands and dragged his fingers through his hair, tugging painfully, as he tried to calm his breathing and wrestled for control.

“I can remember you, please, give me a chance.” Bucky clutched at Steve’s legs and Steve knew he couldn’t take it anymore. He staggered sideways along the wall, pulling his legs free from Bucky’s grip, and fell across the room in lurching strides that were already more wolf than man.

“No. I’m sorry,” Steve managed to gasp before he launched himself straight through the window to flee into the forest. The glass shattered around him, cutting his skin and littering the floor with dangerous shards, but Steve barely noticed the painful cuts on his arms above the exertion it was taking to keep the wolf back. He knew he had to put as much distance between himself and the house as possible before the transformation took him and his mind was overtaken with the impulses of a hunter’s moon. He didn’t trust the wolf to understand the boundaries of consent, once he had fully transformed, Steve knew his mind would be solely focused on one thing. He couldn't risk hurting Bucky, and he couldn't risk the safety of his pack if the treaty was voided. He had to get away. Steve's strides lengthened as he ran, and soon he was bounding between the trees on all flours, feeling his muscles shift and change as the moonlight cut through the tree trunks and caught him in the wash of silver. 

The light felt like a brand on his skin, scalding and sharp as it pulled the wolf up towards the surface. Normally, the shift from man to wolf was seamless. As quick and painless as a blink of the eye. But when the lines were blurred as messily as they were on nights when the moon was full, the change was as slow and agonizing as it was the first time Steve experienced it, pulling forth memories that Steve’s spent his life trying to repress.

Steve ran through the pain, splashing through the river that flowed behind his home in an attempt to lose Bucky’s scent. Not that it would help much, with his heightened senses, but it was the best plan Steve could come up with. His bounding steps faltered and Steve staggered to a stop as the wolf finally consumed him, bringing him to his knees as the last bit of humanity slipped from between his malformed fingers. The pained groan that erupted from Steve’s throat was more animal than it was human; his voice already beginning to distort and deepen as he slammed his shifting body up against the thick trunk of a tree. 

His bones shifted and cracked, reforming as he clawed at the clothing covering his overheated flesh. They tore easily under the lengthening blades of his nails, as did his skin when tufts of golden fur began to burst forth from beneath his bulging muscles. His jaw slowly extended into a snout, warping the scream in his lungs into a snarling howl that reverberated through the trees like a crack of thunder.

Steve fell forward onto the riverbank, digging deep gouges into the dirt as the last bits of man melted from his hulking wolf-like form. And then it was over. Just like that. Steve shifted into a crouch, panting as he gathered what remained of himself, which wasn’t much at all, really. The wolf was nothing like the man he used to be, governed solely by instinct rather than logic and reason, so as the pale light of the hunter’s moon beat down on his new-formed skin, the sudden urge to hunt and mate overtook him, pulling him up to his feet like a puppet on a string. 

He sniffed at the chill autumn air, ears perked up and eyes flitting about the trees as he moved; searching for his mate. For all his efforts to put distance between himself and the house, the wolf raced back through the forest quicker than Steve had managed to stumble away, and before he knew it, Steve was sniffing around the broken glass littered across his living room floor. But he didn’t sense anyone inside, and when he lifted his snout to sniff the air, there was no scent carried along with the breeze. Obviously, no heartbeat drumming close by. Nor any shadows hiding among the trees. Steve was alone, and Bucky was nowhere to be found. 

So where was he? Where was his Bucky?

Steve had to find him before someone else did. 

With that horrifying thought in mind, Steve whipped his head back, howling out his melancholy question to the darkened forest, desperately hoping for an answer he wouldn’t receive. A few distant howls sounded in response, filling the weighted silence around him, but none of them belonged to his Bucky. 

The terrified scream that echoed soon after, however, did.

Bucky was in trouble, and something within Steve snapped, severing the final thread of humanity his human side was clinging to. Steve let out an unholy roar as he sprang into action, gracelessly tearing through the forest to get to his mate, whose distressed scream still rang loudly in his pinned-back ears.

A familiar scent soon filled his nose as he closed in on the sound of his mate’s panicked whimpers, and a sudden wave of possessive rage washed over him as his addled mind began to understand what was happening. 

That was Rumlow’s scent clinging to his nose—to his mate’s fucking _skin_. Rumlow, who knew better than to encroach on his Alpha’s territory so blatantly. This land belonged to _Steve_. _Bucky_ belonged to _Steve_. And _nothing_ and _no one_ was going to take them away from him. 

Only a swift death awaited those who sought to challenge Steve, and if Rumlow so much as breathed in Bucky’s direction, Steve was going to bathe the forest in his blood.


	5. Chapter Five: James

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, the moment you've all been waiting for 😉

James didn’t hesitate to go after Steve, even after the odd—and frankly, humiliating—way Steve had rejected each of his advances. You’d think he’d be used to it by now, the sting of rejection, but it still burned bitterly in James’ chest. Regardless, James wasn’t going to give up. Not when his existence hung in the balance. Not when he might finally be out from underneath Pierce’s thumb. Steve had been full of surprises so far. His house was neat and welcoming, nothing like the den he’d been led to expect. There were grand floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the forest, shaded from direct sunlight by leafy green boughs. James might actually be able to sit by the window during daylight hours—if he lived long enough to see the sunrise that was.

James just had to work harder to force the bond. 

The beautiful windows had been shattered when Steve tore through them and fled into the forest. For a moment, the air had bloomed with the delicious smell of his blood as the glass shards ripped at his arms, and it was that that spurred James into motion. He climbed out of the window and followed the smell of Steve’s blood until he came across a stream that wound around the back of the cabin and James lost the trail. He stood on the river bank and tried to scent the air, but all he could smell was the damp earth of the river bank and the greenery of the forest. James panicked for a moment before he pulled himself together and chose to carry on dead ahead, assuming Steve would have focused on getting as far away from him as possible. 

The river water was icy, stripping away what little warmth James had in his veins as he stumbled across the slippery rocks on the river bed and clambered up the bank on the other side. His legs felt numb and James shivered in a vain attempt to warm himself up as he stumbled forwards into the depths of the forest. His shiny Italian shoes and slim-cut suit weren’t the best suited for a forest hike, and he kept tripping and stumbling over tree roots, catching his jacket on branches that reached out to grab him. James winced as one particularly nasty fall ripped open his palm and James instantly pressed his hand to his mouth to drink up any blood before it could spill; he didn’t have enough within him to waste.

Pierce was worried that Steve wouldn’t take to James if he was ‘contaminated’ with the stench of someone else, so it had been a few days since James had been allowed to feed. It wasn’t the longest stretch James had gone between meals, but it was close. He was weaker than he would normally be, and with drops of blood escaping from his palm, he was growing weaker by the second.

“Steve?” James shouted into the forest. “Please? Give me a chance!” He waited for a reply, and heard a deep snarl from somewhere off to his left. “Steve?” James staggered off towards the direction of the sound. It didn’t long for James to pick up the distinct smell of ‘wolf’, although it smelt nothing like Steve. 

The wolf snarled again, aggressive and spin-chilling, and James stopped dead in his tracks. He saw a pair of deep brown eyes shining from between the thick undergrowth.

“Steve?” he asked again, but James was beginning to suspect this was a wholly different wolf. He took a shaky step back as the wolf padded out from between the trees, growling through a clenched jaw. 

“Bucky, right?” The wolf snarled and James knew for certain it wasn’t Steve. 

“James,” he corrected, trying not to show any fear. Wolves could sense that, couldn’t they? 

“Where’s your mate? He give up on you already?” The wolf padded a few paces closer. 

James gave the wolf a withering stare that would send any human recoiling back, but it just made the wolf sneer in amusement. 

“Well, if he won’t gut you—I’ll just have to finish you off myself.” The wolf unfolded himself from his crouch, standing on his hind legs to tower over Bucky with an inhuman height. His fur was inky black with a streak of white that crossed behind his impossibly huge shoulders. James took another shaky step back and twisted his foot on the uneven flooring, falling to the ground with a muted thump.

 _What?_ James’ brain couldn’t quite make sense of what the wolf was saying. 

A snarl caught in the back of the wolf’s throat as he loomed forwards, and flecks of drool fell from his slobbering maw. Bucky brought his arm up to shield his face, flinching back with unconcealed revulsion. 

“Can’t let a pesky peace treaty get in the way of our war, now can we?” The wolf’s snout inched closer, exhaling his foul breath in heavy pants. James tried to squirm backward but there wasn’t anywhere for him to go. “Gotta give him credit, Rogers has more control than we planned. But it doesn’t matter. If any of his pack kills you, it has the same effect. Pierce is clever like that.”

James’ head spun. Pierce had _planned_ for Steve to kill him?

“And once Pierce kills Steve for violating the treaty, I finally get what’s due. This territory should be _mine_ ,” the wolf growled. 

Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled, sending a high-pitched whine reverberating through the forest. Distantly, a few wolves responded from around the forest which spurred the wolf above James into action. He pulled his lips back to show off a set of snarling, vicious teeth and lunged at James, clamping his jaw around James’ arm. 

James shrieked as the wolf’s teeth sunk into his arm, ripping through his flesh like a knife through paper. Pain seared through him and James felt more strength ebb away. He was already dangerously low on reserves, and unless he fed soon, James wasn’t sure he would be able to heal from this. 

He’d never been skilled at fighting, he’d never been trained in combat—at least, not that he could remember—but some sort of instinct kicked in as James panicked. He used his free hand to punch the wolf in the side of its head and used the moment of disorientation to twist himself free and stagger to his feet. His left arm was torn to shreds and stinging with pain. James held it against his stomach and tried to ignore the agony as he readied himself for a second attack. He lowered his center of gravity and braced himself for an onslaught that never came.

Something crashed through the trees beside him in a blur of golden fur and broken branches. The shape launched into the air and tackled the black wolf to the ground with a mess of snarling, snapping bites.

“STAY AWAY FROM MY MATE!” The golden wolf roared with a deep voice James recognized as Steve’s, even if it sounded gruffer and more thunderous, emanating from deep within the wolf’s chest.

James shrank back, keeping his arm braced against his chest as he watched Steve clamp his strong jaw around the other wolf’s neck and shake him violently from side to side. The black wolf wasn’t finished yet though, he swiped at Steve’s side with a heavy blow of his paw and ripped deep scratches along Steve’s flank that soon blossomed with blood, filling the clearing with the rich, fresh tang that made Bucky salivate. Steve gave a yowl of pain and rolled off the black wolf, pulling back and pushing up onto his hind legs. James had thought the black wolf was tall, but Steve’s werewolf form was a head taller still, his fur bristled in anger and he bared his teeth into a snarl, showing off a mouthful of bloody fangs that glinted under the moonlight. Considering the circumstances, James probably shouldn’t have found it an attractive sight—he’d been taught to fear and abhor werewolves, after all —but there was something about the sight of Steve, strong and dominant, poised in a defensive stance above James, dripping with blood that he’d spilled to protect him, his _mate_ , that made James reconsider everything he thought he knew. 

“Stay back.” Steve growled under his breath, shooting James the quickest of glances over his shoulder as he spoke. His blue eyes flashed and for a moment, James was thrown. A long-buried memory stirred and he found himself remembering a different set of blue eyes beneath a messy thatch of blond hair, a frail hand with bruised knuckles wiping away blood from a split lip and a busted nose. _I had him on the ropes,_ spoken with the same determination. James staggered back in shock as he grappled with the realization that maybe he _did_ remember Steve. But how could that skinny blond boy in his memories be the same as the indomitable Alpha werewolf standing before him? 

James didn’t have time to wonder long before the black wolf lunged at Steve, bracing his front paws on Steve’s shoulders to try and send him to the floor. But Steve couldn’t be brought down that easily, he lashed out in response and they were locked in a fight, pinning each other in mid-air, and snapping and snarling as they fought for dominance. Steve sunk his teeth into the black wolf’s neck, going for his throat this time, and the black wolf stumbled, dragging Steve down on top of him. They wrestled in the scrub, and for a while, it wasn’t clear who was winning. James watched on in horror as the black wolf seemed to gain the upper hand, but he soon realized it was nothing more than a feint from Steve, as Steve used both paws to tear at the black wolf’s face. The black wolf retreated for a moment and they began to pace in circles around each other. 

“You dare to touch my mate and jeopardize my pack?” Steve growled. 

“It should be mine!” The black wolf growled back, but even James could tell his voice sounded weak and laced with pain. 

“I should have exiled you years ago.” Steve snapped, and he lunged to score a vicious scrape of his teeth across the black wolf’s spine before his opponent could wriggle away. “After I'd beaten you in combat, I took pity on you, but I should have known you’d never stand being second best. How long have you been working with Pierce?”

“Since the beginning,” The black wolf panted. “I always knew you were too weak to lead. Look at you,” the wolf was foaming around his teeth, a mixture of saliva and blood that made him gargle his words. “Ready to kill one of your own to defend a filthy bloodsucker. What kind of Alpha are you?”

“He’s my _mate_ ,” Steve snarled with a possessive edge to his voice. Hope flared brightly in James' chest for the first time all evening, that maybe he would get to live to see dawn after all. “He’s worth more to me than you ever will. Traitorous wretch.” Steve gave a threatening roar that rolled around the forest like thunder before he moved in for the killing blow, tearing straight through the black wolf’s jugular and sending a spray of hot blood spilling across the forest floor.

James didn’t hesitate. He threw himself across the clearing and latched his fangs against the spray of free-flowing blood, feeling instantly revitalizing as it coursed through his veins. His arm began to slowly knit itself back together and finally, James was able to begin to shake off the chill of the cold October night air, but still, it wasn’t nearly enough to fully satisfy him, what with most of the wolf’s blood soaking into the soil at his feet. 

However, what little he was able to drink was more than enough to transfer what remained of Rumlow’s lingering consciousness into his own mind; capturing his memories like a fly in amber. Tiny flashes of light and sound flickered behind his eyelids, playing little snippets of the wolf’s life like a reel of silver nitrate. And to his everlasting horror, James realized that Rumlow was telling Steve the truth about Pierce. He saw it all. The secret dealings, the promise to supplant Steve with Rumlow once James was slaughtered on Lycan territory, granting Pierce the leverage he needed to finally start the war he’d always longed for. A war that would end up wiping out the Lycans entirely, but James doubted Pierce would have revealed as much to Rumlow, who was as much a pawn in Pierce’s game as James was. He just didn’t know it.

Though, James should have known that something like this would ultimately be Pierce’s endgame. James’ marriage to Steve was never meant to foster peace at all. He was merely a tool Pierce was using, a sacrifice offered up to appease his own lust for power. He never meant anything to Pierce, and James was furious with himself for ever thinking he once did. 

With great reluctance, James pulled himself away from the bled-dry corpse of the black wolf, letting out a long, pained groan as the gashes in his skin closed up and the bones in his arm snapped back into their proper place. Warily, he cast a glance over his shoulder, searching for Steve and quickly spotting his hulking frame looming among the trees; a palpable air of uncertainty now etched into the lupine features of his face.

There was blood dripping in thick globs from his maw, splattering across the golden fur of his chest and neck, and Bucky should have found the sight of such carnage utterly repulsive, but he didn’t, because to him, It wasn’t. Steve risked his life and everything he held dear for James, who barely even remembered him at all. He murdered a member of his own pack to protect a vampire, but James doubted Steve’s undying loyalty to him came from anything other than their shared history. History he couldn’t yet recall. 

But James had a way to remedy that, to give himself back the memories that were stolen from him. He just hoped Steve would be willing and trusting enough to take that step with him.

James slowly rose to his feet, taking care to telegraph each move he made as to not startle the wolf before him. Admittedly, James didn’t know much about Lycans at all, and surely, whatever Pierce told him was most likely a lie anyway, so he really couldn’t rely on that bit of knowledge to guide him through this fragile situation. Though, Natasha did warn him once that Lycans were temperamental beasts, especially during the full moon, and it wouldn’t take much to set one of them off into a frenzy of violence. 

Steve, however, didn’t strike him as a brute. Possessive, yes. Protective, yes. But James had a feeling that he wasn’t the savage animal Pierce made him out to be. 

There was so much more to him than that.

“Are you alright?” Steve rumbled as James cautiously approached. He hadn’t moved much from where he was hiding among the trees, but James could tell by the strain in his voice and the rich iron smell in the air that the gashes in his side were still sluggishly bleeding. But something in the back of his mind told James that this was nothing new for Steve. 

James glanced down at his freshly healed arm and shrugged. His suit jacket and dress shirt were ruined beyond repair; torn up by sharp tree branches and even sharper teeth and claws. The pale skin underneath showed no hint of the assault James had just endured at the hands of Rumlow, just as the scars from his time with Pierce would remain forever unseen, but dried blood still marked his flesh in messy streaks, covering his chin, neck, and hands like dark splotches of ink.

His gaze drifted to Rumlow’s corpse–no longer lupine where he laid on the forest floor, but eternally human–and unbidden, the question that had been weighing down his tongue burst forth from James' throat. 

"He was one of your own," James began, feeling wholly unworthy of Steve’s devotion. Steve cocked his head, ears twitching and bushy brows furrowed with visible confusion. "Why kill him to save me?"

Steve frowned. "You know why."

"Do I?"

Steve’s shoulders sagged, but before he could cave in on himself any further, James closed the distance between them, reaching up to cup the wolf's furry cheeks in his icy hands. Steve couldn't help but lean into the touch, nuzzling into James' palms in a way that was pure canine affection. It was strange, James would admit, but incredibly endearing nonetheless. 

"I don't remember you. Us. But–" James heaved a sigh, hoping Steve would understand. "I want to, Steve. And I can, if you allow me to."

Hope bloomed in the neon blue of Steve’s eyes, but there was still a wariness present in the way his own deformed paws came up to gently clasp James by the wrists; keeping him close. 

"How?" Steve asked. "Anything you need, Bucky. Anything at all and it's yours."

James bit his lip, and leaped off the edge of the precipice they were facing, hoping against reason that Steve would be there to catch him.

"Your blood holds the key, Steve." James carefully explained, watching confusion and blind determination war in the windows of Steve’s eyes. "Vampires have a unique gift, just as I'm sure your kind does. We can see someone's memories, capture little glimpses into their lives by feeding on them. One bite is all it would take–"

"Do it." Steve was growling out before James had even finished explaining. His jaw was squared and his spine was straight; pure stubborn will to do whatever James had deemed necessary. It was obvious that the idea that this was just an elaborate plan to kill him hadn’t even crossed Steve's mind, and part of James wanted to smack Steve for acting without even considering the possibility. But then again, that as well wasn’t anything new for Steve.

"Bleed me dry if you have to, Bucky. I don’t care. Whatever you need, it's yours."

James swallowed around the lump in his throat, hesitating as he tried to figure out how this could work without him getting mauled to death. He had no doubts that Steve would rather die than hurt him, but the wolf? Not so much. James couldn’t take the risk of the venom in his bite setting it off.

"I–alright, Steve." he breathed, stomach churning with raw anxiety. Steve was fucking _huge_ , both in height and in pure muscle mass. If he snapped in this form, James wouldn't stand a chance. 

Steve seemed to be on the same train of thought, however, because as he stepped out from the scant cover the trees provided, he cast his eyes up toward the sky and the golden fur on his body began to fall away, revealing the scarred, tanned skin underneath. 

Steve groaned like he’d been shot with a silver bullet, doubling over as his wide frame shrank back down to what it once was. 

James abruptly stepped back as he watched, and as his eyes quickly flicked up towards the sky, seeking out answers as to why Steve was shifting back again, he noticed the thick cover of clouds that now blocked out the light of the moon, reversing what its accursed light pulled up to the surface. 

His eyes snapped back to Steve at the sound of a pained yelp, and in a flash, James was standing before a very human Steve once again, holding onto his side as the closing wounds solidified into thick scars under his palm.

Steve stepped forward unsteadily, reaching out for James with a hunger he’d never seen in anyone before, and James couldn’t help but let his gaze rake over the bare body of his mate at the sight of such longing, taking in the hard curve of his sculpted muscles, the dark curls of chest hair that spread from the swell of his pecs down in a thick trail to the base of his impressive cock; hanging heavily between his thick thighs. 

Every inch of this man screamed _Alpha,_ but though James couldn’t yet understand why, somehow, the body before him didn't seem quite right. Steve should be smaller, slimmer than the chiseled hunk of a man he had since become.

Though, there would be time for such questions later, James thought. Right now, they had to hurry. The moon wouldn't stay hidden behind the clouds for much longer, and James was running out of time.

"Just try and relax," James implored as he wrapped his hand around the back of Steve’s neck, tugging him forward. The heat of him was intense, burning James' skin like a brand just from that single touch. The sensation pulled a shiver from the both of them, and without thought, James leaned in to run the tip of his nose up the side of his mate’s throat; breathing him in.

The smell of Steve's blood was a heady thing, rushing like a raging river beneath his skin, and James' mouth watered in eager anticipation; fangs extending into sharp, knife-like points.

"This will feel a little weird," James murmured, and as soon as he felt the slight nod of understanding from Steve, James widened his jaw and bit down.

Steve’s entire body went taut as the skin broke, flooding James' mouth with the succulent taste of his blood. Rich like red wine and dark chocolate on his tongue, James was hooked from the first bite, sucking frantically at the artery under his mouth just to get a bit _more_. 

Steve groaned as James fed, and the sound was like music to his ears, fueling his rabid hunger in a way no one else ever had before. But James didn't have long to enjoy the feed, for as soon as Steve’s blood slid down his throat, the memories came rushing out with it, hitting James like the train he fell from–

James gasped, clutching onto Steve as hard as he could when the images began to flash before his eyes, and Steve’s arms wrapped around him in return, holding him in a vice grip like he couldn’t bear the thought of separation.

And now James–no, his name is _Bucky–_ knew why.

There was a bright flash behind his tightly closed lids, and suddenly, Bucky was looking at himself through the eyes of six-year-old Steve. Bucky was reaching out a scrapped-up hand to help Steve up, grinning at him with bloodied teeth as he introduced himself. Another blinding flash and Steve was sixteen, leaning in to kiss Bucky's lips for the first time. 

War came for them ten years later, and when Bucky was called to cross the sea to fight for his country, Steve followed right behind him, vowing to never leave Bucky’s side. 

"Till the end of the line," Steve had said, and Bucky knew now that he meant every word of it. 

There was an important mission in the Alps, he soon remembered, “to capture Arnim Zola,” Colonel Phillips told them, and so they went, Steve and his squad of misfits the SSR threw together to fight against the Nazis. 

They were on a speeding train, and a blast of light and heat had ripped the side of the railcar wide open, sucking Bucky out into the frigid air with it. Steve reached for him, grasping Bucky’s hands. He was screaming something, but Bucky couldn't hear past the roar of the wind in his ears. Steve tried desperately to cling to Bucky’s hand, but he was bleeding from a wound in his shoulder and the thick slew of blood that ran down Steve’s arm made their hands too slick. Bucky felt himself begin to sip. Steve’s face twisted in anguish, and he screamed and screamed as Bucky fell away.

It didn't take him long at all to hit the ground.

Bucky tore his mouth away from Steve’s bleeding neck with a gasp, dizzy and reeling as the blank spaces in his mind suddenly filled with forgotten memories. His knees buckled under the weight of it all, but Steve's strong arms were still wrapped tightly around him, pulling Bucky’s limp body into a warm embrace.

"Bucky?" Steve breathed, questioning in more ways than one. “Bucky what’s–”

Bucky blinked his eyes open at the familiar sound of his name on Steve’s tongue, and as the fog finally cleared from his mind and Steve’s gorgeous face came into focus once again, Bucky could barely hold back the whine of unreserved longing that was crawling up his throat. 

He knew that face. Knew it better than he knew his own, and _God,_ Bucky missed this man more than he ever could have imagined. 

"Steve," Bucky whispered, and tears were sliding down his cheeks as the last seventy-five years caught up with him in a flash. It was like waking up from a nightmare, being in Steve’s arms after spending a lifetime apart. But as dreams are often forgotten soon after waking, Bucky could finally _remember_. 

Bucky remembered it all. 

"Oh God, Steve– _Stevie_!" Bucky sobbed, and Steve’s hold on him tightened, crushing Bucky against his chest as he rained soft kisses across Bucky’s tear-streaked face. "I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Stevie!”

“No, Sweetheart. Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. Not for this. Not for anything.” Steve choked out as he held Bucky’s shaking frame. His pretty blue eyes were blurred with unshed tears of his own, and the sight of such bittersweet anguish reached right into Bucky’s chest and clutched at his long-dead heart; the ache behind his ribs drumming like a heartbeat. 

“It’s really you, isn’t it?” Bucky’s hands came up to frame Steve’s face, his thumbs lightly caressing the coarse hair of Steve’s beard under his palms. Steve gave a shaky nod and a sad smile, mirroring Bucky’s hands as he gently grabbed him by the jaw; his thumb pressing into the dimple on Bucky’s chin. The burst of laughter that Bucky let out at the familiarity of that was a bit hysterical, but Steve was really no better. They were both a mess of tears and unresolved trauma that would probably take years to come to terms with—which they would when they were ready—but right then, the how and why they were together again was irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was that they were here together, and nothing would ever again tear them apart.

“You have a beard.” Bucky laughed, a bit out of awe and disbelief that the clean-shaven Steve he knew would look so... _wow,_ when half his face was hidden under a thick layer of fuzz. 

“Yeah.” Steve grinned, pressing his forehead against Bucky’s. He swallowed thickly, and Bucky hated that he knew what Steve was about to say. “And you look the same as the day—”

But Steve cut himself off with a sigh before he could finish that particular thought, and Bucky shook his head; grateful that he did. He didn’t want to revisit those demons just yet. All he wanted right now was Steve.

Bucky leaned in, murmuring a soft, “Just kiss me, Steve,” and thankfully, that's just what Steve did. 

Bucky remembered their first kiss, how brief and astonishing it had been as they sat cross-legged on the fire escape of Steve’s apartment, and this time was really no different. The first touch of Steve’s lips on his was an explosion of heat that stole the breath he didn’t even need from his lungs. Steve poured every drop of himself into it, just as he always had; licking into Bucky’s willing mouth as soon as his lips parted in a gasp, and Bucky greedily drank it all in, demanding more with a guiding hand in Steve’s hair and sharp teeth nipping at his plump bottom lip.

Steve let out a startled growl when a fat drop of his blood hit their tongues, coating the kiss in a flavor Bucky would be tasting in his dreams for centuries to come. His eyes flashed dark with lust, but Bucky could tell that Steve was holding himself back. Bucky remembered Steve’s earlier reluctance and cringed a little at the way he’d thrown himself at Steve. 

“It’s okay,” Bucky urged, kissing Steve harder and gripping at the strong muscles of Steve’s back. “I remember you now. I do. I want this, Stevie.”

“Are you sure?” Steve swept Bucky’s hair back from his forehead and peered into his eyes. “It’s a mating moon, Buck. I won’t be gentle when I–”

“Then _mate_ me.” Bucky licked his lips and dove back in for a kiss, giving Steve’s lip another playful nip.

A sound of pure, heated want rumbled from Steve’s chest and he grabbed Bucky by the waist, marching him backward and using the bulk of his body to cage Bucky in against the trunk of a nearby tree.

The kiss turned filthy from there, all teeth and tongue and wandering hands that left Bucky feeling unmoored and dizzy from the sheer force of Steve’s desire. Steve kissed him like he wanted to crawl inside of Bucky and carve out a home for himself behind his ribs, where he could stay close to Bucky’s heart forevermore. He took control easily, reducing Bucky to a panting mess of unrepentant need as he trailed a scorching line of biting kisses down the long curve of Bucky’s neck. And what was once a bittersweet reunion between two long lost lovers had now become something else entirely. Something wild and dangerous that Bucky didn’t yet understand. But then again, he didn’t need to. All he had to do was step back and let Steve take the reins.

“Fuck– _Steve, please!”_ Bucky squirmed as Steve dipped his tongue into the faded puncture marks Pierce once left behind in the crook of his neck, tugging none too gently at the tufts of shaggy hair in his hand when blunt teeth attempted to carve a mark of their own. And wasn’t _that_ a thought that turned Bucky’s spine to molton jelly. Steve marking him as his mate, binding Bucky to him for as long as they remained upon this earth. He desperately wanted Steve to undo whatever Pierce had done to claim Bucky as his own, no matter what that entailed, and he must have said as much because the mood between them abruptly shifted into something headier; saturated in the musky scent of sweat and sex that made Bucky’s head spin.

“Yeah?” Steve rumbled, slotting one of his thick thighs in between Bucky’s legs. Bucky whined, pressing his hips against the hard line of Steve’s cock; slowly grinding his own growing arousal against his mate’s until Steve put a stop to it with a bruising squeeze to Bucky’s waist and a hard bark of _"no,"_ into the shell of Bucky’s ear.

"I want to hear you say it, Bucky." Steve hissed, sucking little bruises that wouldn’t last on the underside of Bucky’s jaw. "I need to know explicitly that this is what you want. Not Pierce. Not the contract or your coven. What do _you_ want from me, Baby doll?"

Bucky swallowed around the lump in his throat. How in the hell Steve expected Bucky’s brain to function—let alone string together a coherent sentence—while he was laving his hot tongue across the chilled skin of Bucky’s neck was a mystery to him, but still, Bucky unstuck his tongue from the bottom of his mouth and gave it a valiant effort.

"Ye _-aah!"_ he cried out, shivering from the little nip Steve’s teeth left behind in the flesh of his shoulder; right below Pierce’s bite. "Yeah. _Yes._ _Fuck yes,_ Honey." Bucky panted, and Steve purred at the sound of his unmasked desperation. Bucky was sure that if Steve’s tail were still there, it would've been thumping against the ground with rabid excitement. "Mark me with your teeth. Fuck me 'til all I know is you. Want it s'bad, Stevie. Missed you s'much. Please!"

"Shh, Sweetheart. I've got you." Steve soothed, petting at Bucky’s hair. He gave a wary glance up towards the sky and frowned. Bucky followed his gaze and saw the moon safely hidden behind thick billowing clouds. But the cloud cover wouldn't last forever; they had to hurry. One day, perhaps they could explore what it would be like if Steve ravaged him in that strange lupine form, but for now, they just couldn't risk it.

“Please, Steve. Make me yours.” Bucky’s head thumped against the rough bark of the tree behind him, offering his neck up to Steve like he assumed Lycans did for their mates. He must have been correct in his assumption because Steve took one look at him, licked his lips, and dove right back in.

“You’ve always been mine,” Steve whispered, his lips soft against Bucky’s neck. The feeling of his mouth and teeth, hot and heated, was pure bliss, but Bucky wanted more. So much more than just this. Bucky clawed at Steve’s broad shoulders, and Steve did the same to him, ripping his jacket and shirt right off of him as easily as one would shred through tissue paper.

Bucky shivered bodily as he was spun around, bracing his hands against the bark of the tree as the same was done to his trousers, leaving him bare and vulnerable to the Lycan behind him. 

Steve groaned, grabbing a handful of Bucky’s ass and jigging the plush flesh in his palm. If Bucky could blush the way humans did, his face would surely have been aflame with the evidence of his embarrassment. 

"God, Bucky…the things I wanna do to you." 

Bucky didn’t get much more than a second to ponder what Steve really had in mind before Steve’s wandering mouth was tonguing at the dimples above his ass. Bucky’s shocked squeal traveled along the trees of the forest when his mate dipped his head lower, spreading his cheeks wide to unashamedly lap at his twitching hole, getting him sopping wet and slick as Steve eagerly worked him open on his tongue.

His knees buckled and Steve followed him down, dragging him away from the tree Bucky was clinging to and into the dirt at their feet. 

Steve’s tongue was relentless, probing and licking, tracing around his rim before pushing its way inside his cold body. Bucky’s eyes rolled up into his head at the slight stretch, and belatedly, the image he must be making popped into his head, reminding him that he was face down in the dirt, completely naked as Steve tongue-fucked his ass with ravenous need; snarling animalistically into the soft skin of Bucky’s taint.

The lewd imagery made his stomach swoop unexpectedly. They’d fucked a few times in the woods during the war, Bucky remembered, now that Steve’s blood had opened to doors to the vaults Bucky previously thought were lost forever, his memories were all flooding back. On missions with their squad, they’d sometimes slip off into the night together, but it had always been a hushed and hurried affair; with clothes half removed and an ear out for danger, ready to snap back into action at a moment’s notice. It had been tense and rushed, and they’d never been able to truly take each other apart like this, or be permitted to be loud with their pleasure. Not since before the war, not for so goddamn long. 

Bucky let himself whine and howl with sounds that rivaled Steve’s wolfish growls, fisting his cock and pressing his ass back into Steve’s face, babbling and begging for his mate’s cock like he’d die if he didn't get it right this second.

Thankfully, Steve seemed to be on the same page. He abruptly tore his mouth away from Bucky’s loosened asshole, biting at his cheeks before delivering a set of harsh slaps to the jiggling flesh; watching with unrestrained hunger as the skin bloomed pink under his mouth and hands and the scratch of his beard. 

Bucky squeaked, his voice high and reedy, but he arched his back and angled his hips up, dropping his chest to the ground to present every inch of himself to Steve like he was a gift. He felt as much as he heard the wet squelch of spit hitting his hole, dripping in thick rivulets down his balls, and in the next stuttered breath he took, Steve was draping his heated bulk across Bucky’s back, lining up his impossibly thick cock and pressing the bulbous head against his slick rim.

 _"F–fuuu–ck,"_ Bucky thinly moaned, trying to bear down on the rock-solid cock attempting to split him wide open. _"Fuck,_ Stevie. Oh, _God,_ you're s'big. Gonna break me on that thick fucking cock, ain't ya?"

"Relax and I won't have to." Steve spat, teeth bared in a sneer. He rocked his hips a little, pushing his way past the rim with a wet pop that had Bucky’s entire body clamping down on Steve’s dick. His mate snarled in warning, his now clawed hand gripping Bucky by the scruff of his neck in reprimand, and Bucky didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know that faint beams of moonlight were peeking through the cover of clouds. The thought thrilled him. 

"Just relax, Baby," Steve growled, his voice impossibly deep and ragged. "Let me in."

And though he didn’t know why, that's just what Bucky did. Instinctively, Bucky went slack against the hold Steve had on the back of his neck, relaxing each wound-tight muscle until even his hips were sinking lower into the dirt.

Steve hummed, licking at the apple of Bucky’s cheek with a long, rough tongue that was definitely more lupine than human, but strangely, Bucky didn’t care.

He let himself close his eyes, to surrender to the searing hot stretch of Steve’s cock as he slowly began to fuck him; starting with deep, measured thrusts that quickly devolved into rapid, feral snaps of Steve’s hips.

Bucky keened, clawing at the dirt as Steve angled his cock just right; nicking the sensitive bud of nerves inside him with every harsh thrust, until all Bucky could do was moan and sob. Steve was right, it wasn’t gentle, but it was everything Bucky needed. 

"Mine." Steve snarled into the shell of Bucky’s ear, nipping at the lobe with a set of long, sharp teeth that should have set off a few red flags if Bucky was still in his right mind. Thankfully, the hot plunge of Steve’s cock had effectively banished every rational thought in Bucky’s head, leaving nothing but raw sensation behind. "You're fucking mine, Bucky. Say it. SAY IT. TELL ME YOU'RE MINE!"

"Oh, _G-god!_ M'yours!! _M'yours, Steve!!"_

Steve’s skin was beginning to overheat, but Bucky had enough sense to know he hadn’t yet shed it for the one that lay beneath. Steve continued to grind his thickening cock against Bucky’s prostate, ripping the orgasm right out of Bucky’s body. He came dry with a harsh twitch of his cock— Bucky hadn’t been able to have a wet release since the day Pierce turned him—panting and trembling into the dirt as the base of Steve’s prick began to swell, tugging at his overstretched rim with each uncoordinated slide. 

_"A-aah!"_ Bucky sobbed, digging deep gouges into the earth as Steve slammed his knot home, coming with a deep growl and flooding Bucky’s channel with what felt like boiling hot spunk; locking them together. He’d heard about a werewolf's knot, and they’d always sounded so barbaric and destructive. But as Steve’s cock swelled to fill Bucky beyond what he believed his body could take, he was overcome with a heady sense of bliss, a feeling of satisfying fullness that Bucky never wanted to go without again. 

In the next moment, Steve bit down on the puncture marks Pierce left behind, marking the skin of Bucky’s neck and shoulder with the deep imprint of his teeth; cutting right through the skin like a hot knife through butter. The mating bite sent an explosive wave of pleasure rushing through Bucky’s body, dragging yet another orgasm out of him as he came screaming into the muddy earth for a second time.

Steve dutifully fucked him through it, pushing him further down into the ground as his still-hard cock jerked and continued to pump Bucky’s ass full of his come.

Bucky hadn’t experienced anything quite like it before, but _God_ —he wanted more, every day for the rest of their unnaturally long lives.

“Steve,” Bucky panted, lying limp and prone on the ground; his neck bleeding and his ass still so gloriously full of Steve.

“I’ve got you.” Steve’s voice sounded as wrecked as Bucky felt. He scooped Bucky into his arms and rolled them gently so that they were lying on their sides, still blissfully locked together. The movement tugged at Bucky’s rim and drew a whine of overstimulation from him, which Steve soothed with a kiss against his now scarred-over mating mark. Bucky rippled all over with another wave of pleasure and fell lax into Steve’s warm embrace. And it was warm, oh so warm. Bucky hadn’t felt warmth like it since he’d fallen. 

It seemed like most of Steve’s urgency had drained from him along with his orgasm once the craving to mate had been sated. He folded an arm beneath Bucky’s head, letting him use his bicep as a pillow, and splayed the other hand across Bucky’s lower belly, holding them flush together. His fingers were still more clawed than what would be considered natural, but now, when he raked them lightly across Bucky’s exposed skin it was to lightly scratch in a way that drew goosebumps from Bucky’s skin, rather than leaving deep grooves and welts that Bucky knew must be scratched into his back. They’d heal as soon as he fed again, which Buck suspected would now be as often as he liked. 

He tested the theory by taking Steve’s wrist and bringing it up to his mouth, scenting the tantalizing blood that pulsed so close to the surface of Steve’s skin. 

“Take what you need,” Steve promised him with a breathy sigh. “It’s yours. Just as you are mine.”

Bucky licked a stripe across the tender skin on the inside of Steve’s wrist, feeling the pulse pump beneath his tongue. He didn’t need to feed again so soon, but knowing that he could, that Steve would never let him go hungry again reassured a base fear that had plagued Bucky for the last seventy-five years. 

He kissed Steve’s wrist instead and guided it back to splay across his belly button. 

“How long till it goes down?” Bucky asked. He could practically feel Steve’s huge cock through the wall of his stomach if he pressed down hard enough, and it was a deliciously heady sensation. 

“‘Bout half an hour,” Steve growled. “Sorry, should have warned you.” 

“I like it,” Bucky assured him. “I like being so close to you. Full of you. I missed you so much. I didn’t know it was you that I was missing, but I felt so lonely, Steve.” He admitted. The forest was still and quiet around them, it was easy to admit secrets. 

Steve tightened his grip, engulfing Bucky in his warmth. “I’m so sorry, Buck. I should have looked for you.” Steve pressed his face into Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky felt a wetness on his shoulder that told him Steve was crying. 

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I should have done more to look for you. I had your dog tags–until Pierce took them from me. I knew your name, but not who you were or why I even had them.”

“Dog tags?” Steve asked. He pressed a kiss against Bucky’s mating mark and asked almost hesitantly, like he was afraid of the answer. “Do you remember now? When I gave them to you?” 

Although all of Bucky’s memories were now at his disposal, it was impossible to process them all at once. It was only with the talk of dog tags that a new memory rose to the surface—one of a wedding in a half caved-in church. Steve smiling brightly, shining like a ray of sunlight as they swapped vows and a dog tag each, dreaming that one day they might be allowed to say those vows for real. 

“We were married,” Bucky whispered with a stifled gasp. 

“As married as we could be at the time.”

“Now we’re married for real.” Bucky burrowed back further into Steve’s arms. “And mated.” He ran his fingers over the mark Steve had made on his neck, giving a hum of satisfaction. 

“Sorry it wasn’t much of a ceremony.” There was a gruffness creeping back into Steve’s voice, but Bucky knew the anger wasn’t directed at him. “I’m going to kill Pierce for what he did to you,” Steve promised. 

“Let’s not talk of that now.” Bucky lifted his arm behind him to find Steve’s head and run his fingers through Steve’s long, shaggy locks. Everything else could wait until later, right then, Bucky just wanted to bask in Steve’s embrace and the happy feeling of contentment that Bucky hadn’t even known was possible before that night. 

━━━━━━⋇⋆✦⋆⋇━━━━━━

Eventually, Steve’s knot deflated and they parted with a strained sigh. Bucky felt empty, but Steve soon scooped him back into his arms and kissed him with enough tenderness, and just a little desperation, to let Bucky know he wasn’t alone. That he’d never need to feel the crushing sense of loneliness again. 

The cloud cover broke as they started back toward the house and Steve stilled beside Bucky as the silvery light crept out from behind the clouds. Bucky wasn’t afraid. Steve had already proven that he would never truly hurt Bucky, even at the height of his desperation. He watched with awe as Steve rippled with the transformation and dropped down to all fours. His fur was beautiful, golden, and bathed in a silver glow. Bucky reached out to run his fingers through it, admiring how soft it was. 

Steve arched his back under Bucky’s hand and his tail did indeed wag, akin to a happy puppy. Bucky had to stifle a laugh at how adorable Steve suddenly was, compared to the fearsome Alpha he’d appeared as before. Amazing what an orgasm could do to calm one’s mood. There was still an undercurrent of aggression to his tone, though, and Bucky suspected Steve’s urges would require him to mate a few more times before the night was over. Honestly, Bucky was looking forward to it. 

They walked back through the woods towards the house, Bucky trying to pick his way carefully across the forest floor whilst Steve padded beside him. When the way proved too difficult for Bucky’s unshoed feet, Steve reared up onto his hind legs and carried Bucky bridal style, clutched tightly against his impossibly strong chest. He bounded through the woods with ease and splashed through the river before climbing back through the broken windows of his lovely home. The broken glass crunched under his feet, but Steve didn’t seem to notice. He ducked beneath the beams that crisscrossed his ceiling and had to stoop to fit through the bedroom door, but he refused to put Bucky down until he was lying Bucky on his bed. Their bed, now. Bucky had no plans of ever leaving it. 

Once Bucky was safely nestled amongst the pillows, Steve stepped back and hunched down onto all fours. 

“Stay here this time. You’ll be safe now that Rumlow’s gone.” Steve promised. 

“Where are you going?”

“I have to run. Hunt.” Steve’s voice started to sound on edge again. “Too much restless energy.”

“You could stay. I’ll help you through it.” Bucky reached out to Steve, and Steve let Bucky wrap his hands around his snout and brush through the longer tufts of fur behind his pointed ears. But he shook his head.

“Not tonight. I’ll be back before morning.” He nuzzled against Bucky’s palm before licking it and leaving a sticky trail of slobber in its wake, which Bucky was surprised to find endearing rather than disgusting. “Look in the bedside drawer,” Steve prompted before he left.

Bucky frowned, but moved back to open the drawer and peer inside. His eyes flew wide as he recognized the bobbled silver chain and tags that were a matching pair to the set he’d lost. 

“You kept them?” Bucky asked as he picked up the dog tags and turned them over in his hands to read the inscriptions he’d memorized so long ago. His hands didn’t tremble anymore, but they would have if he’d been human still. 

“Of course I did, Buck.” Steve nosed against Bucky’s hand that held the dog tags clutched to his heart. “I loved you then. I love you now. I’ll love you until the end of the line.”

“Until the end of the line.” Bucky echoed.

“I’ll be back before dawn.”

This time Bucky didn’t try to stop Steve. He laid back in the pillows and looped the chain around his neck, reveling in the feeling of the metal against his skin. There would be plenty of time tomorrow to reacquaint themselves with each other without Steve battling the tug of the full moon. And the next day, and all of the days after that. Until the end of the line.


	6. Chapter Six: Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! JJK and I would like to thank you all for joining us on this wild and spooky ride! We hope you've enjoyed the story ❤
> 
> Also, J and I originally said this story would only end up being a short 3-5K.... So much for that😂

Steve hated the idea of leaving Bucky, but whilst his urge to mate was freshly sated and he had the most control over his mind that he would all evening, Steve took the opportunity to remove himself. Bucky had already been through so much in one night and it wouldn’t be long before Steve was overcome with the desperate rutting urge to mate again. Steve didn’t want to push Bucky’s body to a breaking point all in one night. 

He left Bucky snuggly nestled in his bed, deliciously smothered in _his_ scent, safe and sound in _Steve’s_ den—which settled the primitive concerns of his hindbrain—and then took off into the night. He ran like the wind, bounding through the forest, feeling like he could fly if he wanted to. Bucky was back, and Steve felt like he had a purpose again. His guilt and grief were no longer an abstract distraction that prevented him from living his life. Now, he had something to channel it into. Pierce would die a long and torturous death for what he’d done to Bucky, and for everything he’d ever done to Steve’s pack over the years. The treaty was already void thanks to Rumlow, even though the evidence of the attack had faded from Bucky’s skin once he’d fed. Though, Steve supposed there was never much of a treaty in the first place if Pierce and Rumlow had always conspired to doublecross. At any rate, Steve wouldn’t let that stand in the way of him doling out what Pierce’s comeuppance.

Without him, Steve was fairly certain Pierce’s coven would scatter. Steve would gladly let them. New lines of territory would be drawn up and things would return to the way they’d existed between vampires and Lycans for centuries; begrudging, but mostly harmless animosity, where one didn’t attack the other without provocation. And with Rumlow firmly torn from the picture as well, Steve was confident that any future attacks between their species wouldn’t originate from his side of the fence.

Steve ran until he reached the outer limits of his territory, and by the time the first traces of dawn began to creep over the horizon, Steve was exhausted. There was still an hour before the moon would set, before he’d be free from its tidal pull for another blissful month, but all of Steve’s aggression and his wolfish urges were finally beginning to wane. He tipped his head back to give a low howl that was echoed faintly by a few other wolves, thanking the moon for returning his beloved Bucky to his side, before he shook himself down and began to trot back towards the cabin.

Bucky was curled up in the center of the bed, right where Steve had left him. It was strange not hearing a heartbeat from him, not seeing his chest rise and fall, but Steve knew he would eventually get used to it and would stop fearing for Bucky’s safety every time he saw him lying so still. 

“Steve?” Bucky rolled himself over and lifted his head a little when Steve stopped in the doorway. Bucky still looked ghostly pale, although Steve was pleased to find his blood had brought a little color back to Bucky’s cheeks. He smiled at him as much as his wolf-like snout would allow and padded towards the bed. 

Bucky looked so young still, exactly as he had during the war. His hair still curled the same, raked across his forehead in the messy way it always was when he first awoke. They could have been back in the Ardennes, waking in their shared tent, the last three-quarters of a century nothing more than a horrible dream—but of course, they weren’t. Steve’s lupine body was enough evidence of that. He crossed the room and settled himself on the floor close to the bed; his head resting on his paws as he stared up at Bucky. Steve didn’t entirely know how Bucky felt about his wolf form. Although Bucky seemed to like it just fine in the woods, neither of them had been quite in their right minds at the time. 

“You came back.”

“Of course I did,” Steve replied with a soft growl that was more of a purr than anything else. Bucky’s face flickered through a whole reel of complicated emotions before he scooted across the mattress and drew back the covers. 

“Get up here.”

“You sure?”

Bucky hesitated for only a moment before he demanded, “Get up here and cuddle me.” He sounded much more like his old self than he had when Steve had first brought him home, and Steve sensed the hesitation hadn’t been directed at _him_ , but at Bucky’s uncertainty of expressing his desires. Pierce was going to pay for stripping Bucky of his confidence.

Steve hastened to comply. He climbed into bed and drew Bucky into his arms; snuggling face to face this time. Bucky pillowed his head against Steve’s chest and fisted his hands in Steve’s fur. “S’like my own heated, weighted, furry blanket.” Bucky gave a deep sigh of satisfaction. 

“You don’t mind?” Steve asked.

“Mind? You're like a big puppy. I _love_ it.” Bucky muttered and huddled closer. “And you're so _warm_. I missed being warm.” He added in a soft voice that Steve definitely wouldn’t have heard if not for his enhanced hearing. “Haven't been warm since I fell.”

“Oh, Buck.” 

“It’s okay now,” Bucky muttered, sounding sleepy. Steve didn’t know if vampires needed sleep, but there was a hazy lilt to Bucky’s voice that implied he did, or maybe Bucky just needed something akin to sleep. “I feel warm with you.”

Steve’s chest swelled with pride for being able to provide and care for his mate, and his mind went fuzzy with a pleased sense of serenity. 

“When did it happen?” Bucky asked softly. “How?”

Steve tensed slightly and gripped Bucky closer to his chest, he hadn’t wanted to have this conversation so soon—or ever, really— but he wouldn’t deny Bucky. “January of 1945,” Steve answered softly. “In the Black Forest.”

Bucky’s head snapped up to stare at Steve. “What? How…? Why didn’t I know?”

“I hid it from you,” Steve admitted. “I didn’t want you to know.” 

They’d been hunkered down in the Black Forest on a mission to destroy a Nazi weapons depot. Steve had scouted ahead whilst the others made camp. The night had been freezing, cold and clear, with a thick carpet of snow on the ground and a full moon shining brightly overhead. The cold made Steve slow, but then again, he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to put up much of a fight against the great grey wolf that had leaped out from nowhere and attacked him. Steve was too far away from Bucky and too close to the German encampment to call for help. 

The wolf had bitten him and then left him for dead. Steve had been convinced he was going to bleed out in the snow until a great fever took him, wracking his body so intensely that he felt like he was burning from the inside out. Steve was certain that if the bite didn’t kill him, then the pain and blistering fever would. Then, just as quickly as it took him, it had passed. Steve’s wounds were gone, and briefly, Steve thought that maybe he’d just hallucinated the whole thing. 

But then he started noticing small changes in his temperament, and that made him fear the worst. Cravings for raw meat, significant darkening of the hair on his chest, a constant feeling of aggression bubbling under his skin—as well as an insatiable appetite for sex that went well beyond what Bucky could handle. To the best of his ability, Steve had kept his condition a secret from Bucky, because honestly, what was there to say? It would have made Bucky worry about him, and Bucky had done enough of that already to last a lifetime. Not to mention, the fear of what he’d become, and what Bucky would think of him. 

“I worried…” Steve broke off with a growl before he managed to go on. “That you wouldn’t like the monster I’d become.” 

“A monster?” Bucky scoffed. “You’re not a monster, Stevie.” 

Steve snorted, but it came out as more of a growl. It wasn’t possible to get more monstrous than he was at the moment. Over eight feet tall with literal claws and an elongated snout full of vicious teeth. The fact that Bucky hadn’t drawn back from him in horror was really quite a miracle. 

“You saw what I did to Rumlow,” he muttered. 

“And you saw how I drained him dry the instant he fell to the ground,” Bucky retorted. “If you’re a monster, Steve, then what the hell am I?” 

“You’re not a monster,” Steve growled protectively, his hackles raised instinctively at the mere _idea_ that Bucky thought himself a monster. 

“I steal life from others, Steve. I’m only ‘alive’ because your blood runs in my veins.”

“That doesn’t make you a monster.”

“I don’t even have a _heartbeat!_ ” 

Steve was suddenly very self-aware of his own heartbeat thudding tauntingly loud in his chest. It echoed behind his ears and thundered deep within his chest. 

“My heart has always belonged to you, Bucky,” Steve said gently. “Now it beats for both of us.” 

He couldn’t kiss Bucky as he was, so he bent his neck to lick kisses across Bucky’s mating bite, hoping Bucky would find it the reassuring gesture Steve meant for it to be. Bucky wriggled and sighed with a wave of happiness in Steve’s arms. 

“You're such a sap,” Bucky commented, but he burrowed closer and Steve felt him settle.

It had been such a fraught couple of days and the exertion of the full moon had worn Steve out completely. But it had all turned out far, far, better than he ever could have hoped. Steve had never found out who it was who turned him, or why, and whilst he’d never be grateful for how Pierce had treated Bucky over the years, he was so relieved that they’d been reunited once again. He sunk into the pillows and rejoiced in the feeling of holding Bucky in his arms, nuzzling against Bucky’s familiar head of brown curls before he closed his eyes and let exhaustion carry him off to deep sleep. 

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**_Three Years Later_ **

The weak November sunshine rose outside the window, shielded by the great green boughs of the forest so that only watery green light fell through Steve’s windows; enough to fill the room with light, but safe enough not to harm Bucky’s sensitive skin. Steve had replaced all of the windows in his home with tinted glass that added an extra layer of protection, and Bucky could sit curled up by the windows in his favorite armchair even in the height of summer if he wanted to. 

Mostly, what Bucky wanted to do was bask in bed and see how many times he could wear Steve out in one day. He’d always been insatiable, even before his transformation, but now his appetite was completely _inexhaustible_. It was a good thing Steve had an appetite to match. Better still that he didn’t have to work, or ever leave their bed, for that matter.

Over the years, Steve had put his strength to good use working a few labor jobs, but he’d invested wisely and now his bank account seemed to grow year after year without him having to do much of anything. He owned his house outright and his outgoings were minuscule. He mostly fed himself in his wolf form from the vast reserves of nature around his home, and Bucky only fed on him—unless he had a particular craving for chocolate or some other delicacy that Steve had to venture to the shops to find. Most of the money Steve spent went on spoiling Bucky in all the ways he deserved to be spoiled. 

For the most part, Bucky let him without fussing too much. Though, Steve could tell that some of the things he did for Bucky—even if they came from a place of genuine love—often reminded Bucky of Pierce, and how he’d reduced Bucky to just another pretty trinket, admired for a time before being abandoned to collect dust on the shelf with all the rest. It made Steve’s heart ache.

Eventually, Bucky had told Steve—clearly trying to soften the blow as much as he could—about his time spent with Pierce, and how his Sire often made him bed prestigious guests and high-ranking members of distant covens Pierce was aiming to gain patronage from—all while Pierce and the coven he belonged to watched. He’d told Steve of the verbal abuse that soon turned violent, how Pierce would starve him to the point of death as a form of punishment before tossing Bucky some poor soul that somehow ended up on the wrong end of Pierce’s wrath.

Steve had held Bucky in his arms as he cried, soothed him when his memories became nightmares he couldn't escape, and vowed to do everything in his power to try and make it right. What that entailed, as it turned out, was launching one final attack against Pierce. Steve had impatiently waited until daybreak—three days after the hunter’s moon had passed—to make his move.

Flanked by Sam on his left and Clint on his right, Steve stormed Pierce’s mansion; taking most of the coven by surprise as they slept; Pierce included. Sam and Clint hung back to fend off any would-be heroes as Steve kicked in the door to Pierce’s bedroom, not in the least surprised to find another, younger fledgling asleep in his bed. Caught off guard, it wasn’t difficult for Steve to subdue Pierce, and the wolf within took great pride in the triumphant feeling of Pierce pinned face down on the floor, struggling like a rabbit caught in its jaws.

Steve would have gladly ripped the spine from Pierce’s body right then and there, but vengeance against Pierce wasn't only for Steve to take. This was for Bucky, who’d endured more abuse and neglect than anyone ever should at the hands of that _monster_. Sam, who’d lost his mate to Pierce’s greed for absolute power. Clint, whose parents were among those lost to the attack against the nursery. This was for every soul Pierce had sullied with his vile presence. Every life that was lost to needless violence. Pierce’s death would be a balm to them all, Steve included.

Steve had expected he’d have to fight his way back through the coven when he’d emerged from the bedroom, dragging Pierce’s thrashing body behind him like a deer still stubbornly clinging to life. But clearly, Pierce hadn’t inspired quite as much loyalty as he’d assumed. The coven had gathered around the galleried hallway, but Sam had no difficulties holding them back—even without Clint’s help, who’d disappeared into the sea of bodies; frantically looking for someone.

“This ends today,” Steve had growled at the coven, who idly stood by while he held their beaten and battered elder by the throat; a palpable air of fear and apprehension about them. “The treaty was a sham, but if you let my pack take its vengeance against Pierce, his death will be the last. I promise you.” Steve glared at them, letting his words sink in and waiting to see what their reaction would be. “But I say this as a stern warning to you all: do not attempt to interfere. It won't end well. What you do with this coven once justice is served is none of our concern, but I assure you, the bloodshed ends here and now with him.”

For a moment, everything was quiet and still, peace balanced on a knife-edge and Steve really couldn’t predict which way it would fall. 

“Thank you, Steven,” a familiar voice had answered, and Steve was surprised to see Natasha standing next to Clint. More surprising still that their hands were clasped together like lovers, although, that did answer a few questions. He’d met Clint’s gaze and let the corners of his mouth curl into a suggestion of a smile. “There will be no violence here today from us,” Natasha assured him. “Take him and do what you must. He's more than earned it.”

Steve had nodded in understanding, and left unopposed with Pierce in tow. Steve dragged him out into the sunlight, kicking and screaming, and threw him into the back of his 4x4; hooded, gagged, and shackled with garlic-coated manacles. It was satisfying, seeing Pierce squirm like the snake he was as pain wracked his body, but still, Steve knew the real satisfaction would come once Pierce faced Bucky.

And what a satisfying sight it was, watching as his beloved Bucky swept down like an avenging angel; blue fire raging in his eyes as he stared Pierce down and helped Steve secure him. Steve had taken Pierce to a secure location just outside of his territory, one they hadn’t used for its singular purpose in quite a few centuries—when public executions of coven leaders were still in practice. 

It was just a small platform with a sturdy wooden pole impaled through the center, but its purpose wasn’t nearly as innocuous as it looked from a first glance. Large branches and logs cut for firewood surrounded the bottom of the platform, and strong iron chains hung loosely from the pole, keeping its victim snuggly fastened in place without a prayer of escape once they were tightened. 

The last vampire the Lycans had burned at the stake was an ambitious abomination by the name of Johann Schmidt—Pierce’s mentor and the one who’d sired him, some say. But that was long before Steve’s time, back when Fury and Schmidt were literally at each other’s throats. Schmidt held a vehement disdain for Lycans, taking the same ‘scorch the earth’ approach to dealing with Steve’s kind that Pierce did, but where Schmidt failed in his attempt to claim the life of their Supreme Alpha, Pierce succeeded. 

How poetic it was that Pierce and Schmidt would come to share the same excruciating fate.

“Alexander Pierce, the Eastern Woodland pack hereby condemns you to die for your crimes against its pack members, as well as that of your own coven,” Steve announced once Pierce had been securely chained to the pole. The hood and the gag had since been removed, bearing the pale skin of his face to the harsh rays of the sun, as well as to all that were present. “Do you have any final words to say before your sentence is carried out?”

Pierce had hissed and thrashed against his bindings, looking for a weak point that even Schmidt hadn’t been able to find when he had faced down the same fate. But as the sun began to blister his delicate flesh, literal smoke rising from beneath the collar of his shirt, Pierce’s eyes had frantically darted towards Bucky, pleading with him for mercy he wouldn’t find.

“J-James! Help me. Please!” he’d cried out, but Bucky merely regarded him impassively from where he stood at Steve’s side; their hands clasped together under the plentiful shade of a tall oak tree. “Please, I beg you! Don’t let them do this to me! Mercy, James. Mercy!”

Pierce’s flesh was beginning to turn an ashen black, flaking away with the slight breeze that rolled through the trees, and Steve knew that it wouldn’t be long until the flames of hell finally consumed him; body and soul. Steve had given Bucky’s gloved hand a reassuring squeeze, silently offering him an out if he wished to take it, but Bucky had just squeezed back, watching on as fire sprouted from the openings in Pierce’s skin, engulfing him in an explosion of heat and light. 

Bucky didn’t even flinch, though it must have been an especially gruesome sight for him. His shoulders sagged as the tension drained from his body, and he gave Steve’s hand another squeeze before pressing himself close against Steve’s arm. His head came to rest on Steve’s shoulders and they watched, together, as the flames had licked the funeral pyre and shot sparks fluttering up into the sky. 

Sam tipped his head back to give a triumphant howl, which was quickly taken up by the rest of the pack who were gathered around to watch the execution. Even in their human bodies, it was impossible to resist the urge to join in, and even Steve’s head tipped back of its own accord to let out a howl that echoed around the clearing. 

At his side, Bucky chuckled and shook his head. “So cliche.”

“It’s fun, you should try it.” Steve had given Bucky a nudge. 

Bucky glared at Steve for a moment before giving a furtive glance around at the rest of the pack, who were busing howling their heads off. 

“Don’t be shy. There’s no judgment here,” Steve had assured him and after giving a slight blush, colored by Steve’s fresh blood running through Bucky’s veins, Bucky had lifted his head to the sky and given his own pitiful attempt at a howl. 

Pride had swelled in Steve’s chest and he couldn’t remember when he’d last smiled so broadly. He threw his arm around Bucky’s shoulders and hugged him tightly, sending up another howl towards the sky, laughing as he did. 

It had been Sam’s idea to host a bonfire the following year to celebrate a full year of peace, and it quickly became a beloved pack tradition. Three days after the Hunter’s Moon, when their blood had cooled and they’d fought off the exhaustion of the night, they all gathered together at the edge of Steve’s territory and lit a great bonfire to celebrate enduring peace. 

Steve stirred as the sunlight gradually brightened the room and pulled him up from the depths of his sleep. He quickly woke all the way when he felt a pair of fangs pressed none too gently against his neck.

“Morning, Buck.” Steve laughed. He rolled over onto his back, dragging Bucky with him so he was lying across Steve’s chest, his mouth still clamped over Steve’s neck, though he hadn’t bitten him just yet. “Someone wake up peckish?” 

Bucky hummed around his teeth and sucked gently, teasing Steve’s blood to the surface in a bruise before he broke the skin. 

“Go on, take what you need,” Steve urged him, running his hands down Bucky’s sides to cradle his slender waist, feeling happy and content with Bucky’s weight resting above him. It was still a joy to wake together and know they had all day completely at the whim of one another. 

“Want you to knot me,” Bucky spoke into Steve’s skin, licking across the fresh hickey he’d marked Steve with. “Wanna feel you as I feed.”

“Is that right, baby doll?” Steve’s hands tightened around Bucky’s hips and his cock twitched with interest at Bucky’s words. “Want me to fill you up?”

Bucky gave a hungry whine and glanced up at Steve with a coy, yet pleading smile that never failed to send sparks of heat pooling in Steve’s belly. Fluttering his eyelashes, Bucky latched back onto Steve’s neck, sucking and teasing as he rocked his hips against Steve’s in a clear indication of what he wanted. He was still loose from their exertions the night before and with a little lube to ease the way, Steve was soon sinking into Bucky with a soft growl that reverberated through his chest and up into his throat. The moment Steve bottomed out, Bucky moaned with pleasure and finally let his teeth break the skin stretched across Steve’s neck. He drank deeply, rolling his hips in rhythm with the pulsing of Steve’s heartbeat as he took his fill. 

The feeling was like nothing else. Steve was powerless to describe it, other than an overwhelming sense of pleasure that fulfilled both the urge to rut that was always buzzing beneath his skin, and the craving to provide for his mate in the most deeply satisfying manner. When he came, in an explosion of pleasure that fizzed with starbursts of color behind his eyelids, Steve felt truly and deeply content. And above him, sated and fed, Steve knew Bucky felt equally blissed-out, full, and warm. Who knew a vampire and a Lycan could be so perfectly matched for each other? 

Bucky’s mouth went lax against Steve’s throat and he gave a lazy lick against the drops of blood that beaded against Steve’s puncture marks before his enhanced healing closed the wound. 

“Love you,” he murmured, tugging gently on Steve’s knot as he settled comfortably in Steve’s arms. “Wanna stay like this forever.”

Steve battled through the fog of his blissed-out mind to manage a chuckle. He bent his head to press a kiss to Bucky’s temple and swept his arms across Bucky’s back to hold him close. “You’d get bored eventually.”

“Nuh-uh,” Bucky protested. 

“You would, my love.” Steve peppered him with more kissed and bucky squirmed slightly to get away, feigning annoyance. “Besides, we have the bonfire in a little while. We should start getting ready soon.”

“Not yet.” Bucky insisted. 

“Not yet.” Steve agreed. There’d be time for another round, first, and for Steve to hunt for his breakfast, and maybe even long enough for a shared shower before they had to think about getting ready; even if Bucky did take an inordinately long time to fix his hair—hair which Steve already thought was perfect, even in its mussed-up state. He dragged his hand through Bucky’s hair and smiled down fondly at Bucky, who sensed he was being watched and propped his chin on Steve’s chest to stare back. His eyes were the color of a mountain creek on a sunny day and his cheeks were rosy with the fresh supply of blood. When he curled his mouth into a smile, the delicate points of his fangs glinted in the cool light of the room. Steve was certain no one had ever looked more beautiful. 

It was a sight he was never going to get used to. A sight he was never going to feel worthy of. They’d both been changed so much from what they’d once been, but Steve was finally starting to make peace with that. He still mourned for all the years they’d spent apart, for all the time Steve had let Bucky suffer at the hands of Pierce without looking for him. But with each passing day, that guilt faded just a little. It had been years since he’d had the nightmare of Bucky falling, and with the promise of waking up to such a beautiful sight every morning, Steve no longer feared falling asleep. He no longer feared himself. Bucky was by his side, and would be forever and always. Until the end of the line. 

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The End.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave us a comment if you can❤


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